Down in Tartarus
by Teanni
Summary: So after Tritter is through with House the inevitable happens  Rehab. Stuck in this place, a more than usually bitter and broody doctor has to come to terms with a certain visitor that just won't stop coming by. HouseCameron
1. The Good Samaritan Stopped By

**Title**: The Good Samaritan Stopped By  
**Fandom**: House m.d.  
**Summary**: What will happen to House after Tritter is through with him. The joys of rehab! House/Cameron  
**Rating**: What about NC-13?

**Disclaimer**: Written out of fan-appreciation I do neither own House m.d. nor any other characters that appear on that brilliant show, I just borrowed them to play around with, so don't sue, please?

He sat at the window staring out at the courtyard. He wore a faded band t-shirt which he had pulled out of the closet in a state of being semi-awake, not caring what colour it was or what was on it. People here insisted that six a.m. was a good time to get up. If you asked him six a.m. was a good time to get thrown out of a bar or to turn in bed, but definitely not to get up. It went against his biologically dictated sleeping pattern and anybody in his right mind knew that I human being couldn't possibly function like that. Then again these people were all crazy; they had this cheery enthusiasm about them that made him want to puke. Actually he had done a lot of puking during his first week here. He had almost felt like a human fountain, except that it hadn't been water coming out of his mouth. He let out a hoarse chuckle. Being a doctor, there wasn't a lot that would actually disgust him anymore. You got past that yuck-factor once you'd finished your residency.

Usually he felt superior thanks to his profession, as if he was part of an elect circle of individuals who set themselves apart from the herd, other times he felt that knowledge truly was a curse – like now, for example. Unlike all the others he knew exactly what was to be expected from rehab – the joy ride that detox was, with all its lovely seizures, the cramps, the night sweats, depression and of course, the crappy therapeutic sittings where he was supposed to get indoctrinated with that bull-shitty twelve step programme. He had not bothered hiding his aversion to group therapy which made up for a bad start with the therapist. Also introducing himself to the rest of the druggies with the words, "Hi, I'm Gregory House – a doctor and if you want to trait in porn or booze against prescriptions feel free to ask," hadn't been the smartest idea in retrospect.

His musings were interrupted by a hesitant knock at his door, he didn't bother turning around, because he really didn't care to see who the newcomer was. Usually some stout nurse came by this time of the day to place his bills on the nightstand and she really was anything close to eye candy, so he decided to save his time and energy. Then he heard a familiar voice say, "Hi." It was Cameron.

He let out a sigh, but didn't turn around nor care to reciprocate her greeting. There was absolutely no point in doing so when all he wanted was to have her out of this room in particular or better yet, out of this rehab clinic all together. "I thought I drop by to see how you're doing," he heard her justify her presence.

"Yeah, you came, you saw, now you might as well leave again." He started scratching his arm again. Sometimes his skin felt like there were bugs crawling underneath it and though he could see that his skin was getting raw and angry in that particular spot, he just couldn't stop running his fingernails over it. There was also that maddening tingling in his leg - the healthy one - that made him kind of hyperactive. It was feeling like he had been cooped up in a tiny room for too long and needed to be moving around, have a good run, but damn, those days were over because of his bummer leg. His knee started bouncing up and down nervously. He tried focusing on those little ticks, but his willpower didn't suffice to make them go away.

"It's been a two hour drive, so I'm not leaving yet." He heard the familiar creaking of the bedsprings, telling him that she had sat down behind him.

So what do to now? She wouldn't leave unless he persuaded her to do it. Two ways to go, but do it quick. Ignore her or lash out at her, just make her leave – quick. He wanted to put in minimal effort, because he didn't have the energy for a verbal attack. He couldn't keep it together and administer a verbal trashing all at once. So he just sat there and pretended like she wasn't in the same room as him, attempting to persuade himself that he couldn't hear her breathing or smell her perfume. Some one called Allison Cameron didn't exist in this universe. His eyes stared out of the window, without really looking. He was seeing but not seeing all at the same time.

"I know what you're trying to do and it isn't working," she said calmly. He didn't answer, which oddly enough encouraged her to continue talking. "Next you're going to try and say something hurtful, something that will make me leave, so you can be alone again. You can save us both some time and trouble and just accept that I'll be here for a while no matter what you'll say or do."

"Feeling like playing the Good Samaritan again, Cameron?" He threw her a brief glance over his shoulder. The lines on his face were more prominent now. She could tell he had lost some weight, because his cheeks looked kind of hollow. The shadows under his eyes spoke a tale of nights spent waking and exhaustion. She could see this much in a blink of an eye because she had spent the last few years cataloguing every line of his face, every expression it wore in the course of a day.

"Maybe a little, but mostly I'm doing this for me," she acknowledged after a moment of contemplation.

"What? You want to see how low I've fallen so that you can finally put me down from the pedestal you decided to place me on in the first place for some odd reasons only you alone can understand?" By the end of the sentence he had fully turned around, his blue eyes sparkling at her challengingly.

"I never put you on a pedestal, House. If anything the last year has shown, that you're nothing but human."

He looked at her with a mock serious experience on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry, did this little experience make you doubt your belief in inert goodness of mankind? Bohoo! You make me want to cry, because I'm such an evil, bad, bad man!"

"Do you never let anybody close to you?" she looked at him with a frown on her face. An expression she sometimes wore during differential, when she was thinking hard about something.

Normally his walls of defence were made of denial. Denial was thick like granite, almost impenetrable, but yet again she had always managed to reach him some way or the other. Now that the walls were only paper screens he could no longer hold her of, it seemed. He just didn't have the energy. "Just go," he said between clenched teeth. His hands were curled into fists, the nails digging painfully into his palm. The pain gave him something to focus on.

Cameron shook her head. This simple gesture seemed to mock the seriousness of his request. "You don't have to do this alone," she offered after a while.

"What if I want to?"

"Nobody wants to be alone."

He ran his hand through his hair, actually pulling at it. He muttered something unintelligible then turned back towards the window. It seemed they sat like that for an eternity until she finally spoke again. He could here the rustle of her clothes, as she got up from bed. "I'm going to leave now," she announced somewhat regretfully.

When she was almost at the door she could hear his voice, "Come back tomorrow?" The way he had said it, was somewhere between a neutral question and an order.

She paused, "Why should I?"

"Because I tell you to?"

Cameron turned around and was surprised to see him look at her. "Try again," she said softly.

He made a face as if the next words were painful to utter. "Because I want you to."

"Okay, that will do," she slowly nodded her consent and left the room.

tbc


	2. Just Some Psycho Analyst Babble

**Disclaimer**: Written out of fan-appreciation I do neither own House m.d. nor any other characters that appear on that brilliant show, I just borrowed them to play around with, so don't sue, please? 

Unrequited love is the saddest kind of love. It catapults you into a limbo or more precisely into some kind of helpless state where you're not able to actively change anything about the situation you are in. If only she could finally give up hope! If only she could stop thinking about him that way! Her ratio and her sense of moral (as well as her sense of self-preservation) told her that it was plain stupid to see anything other in him than just her boss and mentor. Mentor? Okay, cancel that. He had never been anything close to a mentor, at least not in the sense she had imagined a mentor to be like. To her it was a person, it didn't matter of what sex, that was older, wiser and willing to share their wisdom and possibly guide their protégé through the first rough years of initiation towards being a full fledged doctor. Perhaps even a little bit like a mother or a father.

House was nothing like that. When times were rough he tended to make them even rougher for the people around him. It was in his nature. Maybe it was his way of preparing them for the world out there where lawsuits, bad-tempered patients, sickness and death were an everyday currency. Was she thankful for that? Yes, maybe in a way, but at the same time she was angry, because she was beginning to lose something substantial. Something she believed defined her as a person: her moral compass, her sense of what was right and wrong.

His behaviour was often brass and callous and just when she thought she had figured him out, his sensitive and caring side surfaced, though he tried hard to conceal it. It confused her, made her insecure and at the same time attracted her to him. She often caught herself talking about him and when she did, she tried to convince herself that it was just so she could better figure him out. She saw him in the books she read and the movies she watched. The songs on the radio were often about him, too. He was the Heathcliff to her Catherine, the Demeterius to her Helen…

But she was here to seek a cure, which was in it itself ironic, considering where they were. He was in rehab and she was trying to fall out of love with him, if it was love after all. Perhaps she was just obsessed with him the way you could get obsessed about a band, a good book, a movie or a good TV show.

No, it was not obsession. It was something else. Something that made her feel miserable and at the same time hopeful. Something that made her stare at his face with the same kind of fascination as if she saw it for the first time and not for the hundredth. She knew he was bad for her in the way too much liquor and too many cigarettes are bad for your health, but she just couldn't suppress the craving. No matter how hard she tried. He was her addiction and they were both doing rehab, because they needed to quit their unhealthy habits.

So when he had asked her, why she had come and she had answered that she did this for herself, it had not been a lie. She was doing this to fall out of love with him, because she figured, once she'd have gotten to know the real him, it would finally do the trick. When she had first started working for him she had believed that his badass act served a higher purpose. Cameron had imagined him to be like one of those oddball heroes in an action movie, the loner with a traumatizing past who tries to save mankind. She could not have been further form the truth. He was just a man, not some kind of hero. And if he was ever to play a part in an action movie it would most likely be the villain.

Still she kept idealizing him for some reason. With time passing she had lowered her expectations so she would not always be disappointed. The fact that he was unpredictable made it rather difficult to have any expectations in the first place. She liked order and habit, so she tried to forcefully fit him into her perception of the world, but that was a mistake. He often went out of his way to shake her notions of an ordered, predictable, black and white kind of life, a world where everything was in its place. It intrigued her and what was worse than that, it attracted her to him. Her reaction to his doings was unpredictable. She accepted, she tried to understand, she even tolerated his behaviour. It had to stop. It was changing her. Into someone more mature? Into someone less caring, but more capable of dealing with everything what life threw in her way? She had no answers to these questions.

That was the reason she was coming to see him four times a week, spending hours sitting there wordlessly while he just stared out of the window. Was she doing that for herself or rather for him or because he had asked her to? To be precise, he hadn't exactly asked. He had ordered her to come again and she complied like a whipped puppy. So she just sat there, waiting for him to do or say something, which he rarely did. She waited for her problem to be solved, by him of all people. How pathetic was that?

Cameron checked her watch it was almost 5 p.m. Visiting hours would soon be over and she still had an one hour car ride to look forward to. She got up from the edge of his bed, she had been sitting on for what seemed to be an eternity, and smoothed her clothes. "I'm going to leave now," she announced. Her voice sounded raspy from lack of use.

He just nodded and when she was at the door she turned around one last time. "I'll be back tomorrow," she told him superfluously.

"Yeah, I know." He's answer sounded unnerved. As if her regular visits were actually bothering him.

As usually Cameron ignored the tone of his voice, pulled the door shut and stepped out on the corridor. The clicking of her high-heels resounded loudly in the long hallway. A nurse passed her by and they exchanged a brief nod as a greeting. The smell of disinfectant hovered in the air. It was familiar and made her feel somewhat self-assured. As a matter of fact now that she had left his room she walked more upright and her posture was less tense.

She reached the lobby and the woman behind the counter threw her a friendly smile. Her name was Darleen. They occasionally engaged in friendly small-talk when she arrived. Nothing intellectually challenging: the weather, their jobs and so on. It was as if they both needed some cheering up before they returned to their daily routines.

"Mrs. House!" Darleen paused since the other woman didn't react to her call. She took in a deep breath and tried again, only this time a little bit louder. "Mrs. House!" Cameron froze in tracks, for a second contemplating who the head nurse was calling to. After a few seconds it occurred to her that it was actually her, the woman was addressing. She turned around slowly. The other woman was approaching with huge and purposeful strides. The rubber soles of her white tennis shoes screeched obnoxiously on the linoleum floor.

"Mrs. House…," Darleen was somewhat breathy from jogging after her, "I don't know if you're husband told you, but Monday's group therapy and all patients participating are supposed to bring a family member. It's a special sitting and I'm sure your husband would benefit immensely from your coming."

"Ummm…sure. I'll come," Cameron answered distractedly. "When am I supposed to be there?"

"We scheduled the meeting for 7 p.m. so everybody can make it."

"Okay, Monday 7 p.m. I'll be there," she said after a moment of hesitation. She was not sure how House would feel about her coming. She had lied about being his wife so she could come by to visit, since only family members were allowed to. Hopefully he would play along once he found out.

She never wanted Monday to come, because she dreaded a possible confrontation with House and the unknown scenario of group therapy. As always time passed much faster than expected, especially since she did not want it to run through her fingers so quickly. The weekend was over in the blink of an eye and ere she knew what was happening she found herself pulling up in front of the rehab clinic. She turned off the engine of her car and rested her forehead against the stirring wheel, taking deep and calming breaths. She felt like she was skidding along the edge of a cliff from which she could fall down any second now.

Cameron took a look at herself in the review mirror while she repeated the words 'You can do this' over and over in her head. After one final determined nod at herself she got out of the car and walked towards the direction of the entrance door. For lack of a better location today's group therapy was held in the huge entrance hall, after all about thirty people had to be accommodated.

The murmur of several voices talking at once resounded from the walls. It mingled with the shrill sound of a chair being dragged over the floor. He just sat there watching and waiting like an island of solitude while people around him were engrossed in conversation, laughing, gesticulating. He radiated sadness. When the first wave of it hit her she took in a sharp breath. She prepared herself to take the dive and be once again absorbed into his universe. She walked up to him, while he watched her with cool interest. "Hi," she said for a lack of better words.

His face contorted into a smirk that then dissolved into some kind of grimace, "Hi, honey," he looked up at her with a derisive expression. The man standing next to them turned to look at her interestedly. His gaze lingered on her for a while than he turned back to his conversation partner, resuming the conversation with more ardour than before. Only then she decided to answer, but with a lowered voice.

"Only family members are allowed to visit," she explained.

He circumstantially got up and walked the few steps towards her, leaning heavily on his cane. Maybe he wanted to keep the conversation private or maybe he just wanted to prove his predominance over her once again. Standing he was at least an inch taller than her. "Wow, regulations are pretty tight, huh? One could almost think they didn't want their patients to be pestered by unwelcome visitors."

"You asked me to come." Her eyes narrowed.

He held her gaze unflinchingly until she looked away, "I guess I did, but druggies aren't known for their resolve. Maybe I'll change my mind."

"Let me know when you do," she replied spitefully. For once she was able to actually utter one of those come backs she prepared in her head but never said out loud.

"I will." He motioned at the two free chairs to their right and she turned to follow his unspoken invitation. Her eyes widened when she felt his hand slap her butt playfully. She whirled around and shot him a warning look.

"What?" he smiled at her, "No love for hubbie dearest? Remember that we are married. You don't want to come of as a frigid cow, do you?"

She refused to dignify his comment with an answer and just sat down on the nearest chair instead. He followed her example and drabbed himself over the chair next to hers. He tried to make it look casually but the fact that his face contorted in pain when his weight rested on his bad leg did not escape her notice. He caught her watching him and then as if to reprove her for it laid his hand one her knee.

"Don't push it, okay?" Cameron whispered to him through clenched teeth. She could feel the warmth of his hand radiate through the fabric of her trousers.

He just threw her a lopsided grin which made the wrinkles around his eyes appear more prominent, but at the same time managed to give him the air of a naughty school boy. "What me?! I'd never do such a thing." Nevertheless his hand stayed where it was.

A middle-aged woman with silver hair purposefully cleared her throat and when this simple gesture didn't suffice to win over people's attention, called the room to order with her loud and smoky voice. "I'm Doctor Marguerite Henderson. Hello and welcome to Three Oaks," that was the name of the rehab clinic, "I'm glad you all could make it. I'm sure you wondering why I invited you to come to this group therapy session. Tonight's sitting is going to be about how your loved one's addiction affected you." Upon this a murmur went through the assembled group of people. House just rolled his eyes and muttered something unintelligible.

"I know that this is going to be tough on both sides, but it's one more step towards healing. You have to consider cause and effect of your actions and take responsibility for them. Especially close friends and relative tend to keep their true feelings to themselves, because they believe it lies in your best interest. Well, tonight we're going to come clean. All of us," she said with an affirmative nod which only helped to emphasize the resolve written in her face.

"Oh, this should be precious. We can lean back and watch the whole thing blow up in her face," House whispered to Cameron rubbing his hands together in glee. "Did you know of this?" he added on a more serious afterthought.

"No," she hurried to answer.

"Who wants to go first? Any volunteers?" the therapist asked, looking around questioningly. Her eyes scanned the room for a potential victim and finally settled on House. Ever since he first hobbled into group therapy he had been the proverbial thorn in her side. He had done everything in his power to sabotage her attempts of helping him. Starting with the first sitting to which he brought a game boy. She had tried to ignore the obnoxious noise it made until she could no longer stand it and confiscated it.

Sitting next to him there was a gorgeous looking woman in her early thirties with long auburn hair. She was looking around nervously as if this situation inspired her distrust. She checked the list of visitors she was holding in her hands: his wife.

"How about you, Greg?" she looked at him challengingly from across the room.

"How about somebody else, Maggie?" he emphasized her name somewhat disdainfully. As if he was trying to insult her by calling her by it.

"Need I remind you that your active cooperation is required to achieve a better healing?" the saccharine smile on her face had by now become a grimace.

"Since we're all supposed to come clean let's not mince around matters, shall we? Doctor Moreau here threatens not to let me leave this clinic unless I successfully frequent and participate in group therapy. How about that, huh?" he looked around accusingly.

All eyes rested on the therapist. But she had been long enough in this job to handle the situation accordingly. Her voice stayed calm and unwavering when she answered. "You have been nothing but hostile, Greg. It's been the only way to assure your participation as you have successfully proven just now."

Cameron had turned to look at House with a pleading expression on her face. "Let's just get this over with, okay?" she said to him quietly. She did not want to be exposed to this embarrassing situation longer than necessary. Little was she to know that she would soon become the centre of attention.

"Mrs. House…may I call you Allison?"

"There we go," House sang in her ear.

"Of course, you can." She tried a polite smile, but it ended up looking forced.

"How did your husband's addiction affect you, Allison?"

"What do you mean?" She asked after a moment of careful consideration.

"Did it have any repercussions on you personally?" When Dr. Henderson saw Cameron hesitate a bit longer than necessary she hurried to add, "There's no need to feel ashamed. You'll find out that all of you made similar experiences. Everything said in this room stays in this room," she looked around meaningfully. A few people nodded their consent. "And remember this is only for your husband's benefit."

"I didn't know Greg…," she stumbled a bit over his first name, which proofed her moral rigidity once again. She wasn't even able to convincingly tell a little white lie. "…before his addiction. I wasn't fully aware of how dependent he had grown from his medicine until last year."

"What happened last year?"

"He got shot by an enraged patient," a gasp went through the assembled crowd.

"So you're working together?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think he was attacked?"

"Why do I think he got shot?" Cameron asked hesitantly.

"Yes," the therapist looked at her expectantly.

"When he interacts with other people….he is sometimes very up-front. Some would even say offensive." She tried to phrase her opinion carefully, shooting nervous looks at House who watched her interestedly.

"Even towards you?"

Involuntarily a bitter smile crept over her face, "At times especially towards me."

"And why do you think that is?"

"He doesn't like to let people come to close to him."

"I take your marriage is going through a crisis," a man sitting a few seats from them interjected. He threw Cameron a sympathetic smile.

"Oh, for God's sake! Keep you nose out of our business, man! If you're interested that in hospital drama, go watch some ER or something!" House had decided to give up his role as silent spectator and actively participate in the conversation. Since he had stopped taking Vicodin he became irritated more easily.

"Greg, how would you describe your relationship with your wife?" the therapist tried to gain control of the escalating situation once again.

House briefly pondered upon the idea of actually answering that question. The fact that his cooperation was needed so that he could soon leave the clinic represented a huge incentive to do so. "Well, she's a wildcat in the sack. You wouldn't think it when you look at her, but hey, what's the saying 'quite waters run deep'," the room was filled with embarrassed coughs. House smiled, while Cameron blushed profusely.

"I didn't ask about your sexual relations with your wife," Dr. Henderson clarified.

"I know, but I still wanted to share this little detail," he threw her a devilish grin.

"You know what I meant…," she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him meaningfully.

"I see. You wanted to know about the angsty chick flick stuff," he rubbed his stubbly chin, "Since you've asked so nicely…No, our marriage isn't the happiest." Cameron turned to look at him in astonishment. "The best word to describe Allison would probably be 'nice'," his tone of voice implied that he regarded this characteristic as something negative.

"And that is problematic why?"

"It's problematic, because I'm not a nice man and she's the essential good girl that comes with her own custom made set of firm values. She won't even tell you off even though she doesn't want to talk about this in public, but I have no problem with that," he crossed his arms over his chest determined not to reveal anything more of his private life to this assembly of freaks.

"Maybe it would be best if you came to see me for a single session next Tuesday…," the older woman suggested pensively.

"I don't think so."

"It's either this or you'll force me to discuss this in group," he just shrugged in response. Dr. Henderson let out a sigh. She was suddenly feeling very tired and the session had only just begun, "Alright….The way I see it you tend to see your wife in an over-idealized way as if she was some kind of saint, while she really just is a woman of flesh and blood. You fear you might corrupt her and what is worse loose your independence if you open up to her. It is clear though that you do need help, because taking refuge in your drug addiction isn't an option anymore. You need support, the kind that only another human being can give you, which your wife is willing to offer. Why else would she come here nearly every day of the week?" Cameron took in a sharp breath and finally decided to speak up.

"I'd rather not discuss this in public. Greg, may not mind, but I do," she told the therapist.

"I'm sorry. I may have gotten carried away, but those things needed to be said."

"You've got at least thirty more people to get carried away with, so go ahead and knock yourself out," House told her.

Dr. Henderson shook her head indignantly, but declined from pressing the matter any further out of respect towards House's wife.

From there the rest of the meeting went by just as expected. People cried and hugged, hugged and cried and then did some more hugging and crying. House stifled a yawn. He usually enjoyed watching soap operas but never focused his undivided attention on them. Now he was forced to do so, because he was stuck in one, which was badly cast by the way. He turned his head to look at Cameron. Her posture was stiff and she looked extremely uncomfortably. Maybe she was still experiencing the after effects of that little incident from before. He could not blame her. He did not enjoy having his private life dragged out into public and he suspected that neither did she. When everyone's eyes rested on the hugging couple across the room he leaned over and took her hand to briefly give it a squeeze, "Do you think we should seek counselling for our marriage, honey?"

Despite the situation Cameron let out a soft laugh, "No, but it would be nice if you talked to me a little more when I come to see you."

He took some time to think before he answered. Rehab wasn't a walk in the park. At night he had trouble sleeping and when he did he often woke up screaming his clothes drenched in sweat. He often lay awake and stared at the ceiling upon which the shadows of the branches of the tree outside his window moved back and forth, trying to calm the disarray of thoughts that filled his head. At times like that a feeling of restlessness overcame him that made his skin itch as if thousands of bugs were crawling underneath it and his heart rate speed up. Up about then the cramps usually started. There was nothing he could cling to that would help him through these moments. No hope, no future to look forward to. Some day in the not so distant future his mind would dwell a little bit too long on the thought of simply standing up and climbing the stairwell to the roof to jump down from it. He would do it without hesitating.

Or he could choose to do something about it. Find something to look forward to, which would maybe keep him from self-combusting. "That could be arranged," he said finally. His long fingers brushed over the back of her hand, when he retracted his arm. It almost felt like a caress.

tbc


	3. I Am The Highway

House was bored out of his mind. He had spent the last thirty minutes with watching a squirrel run back and forth nervously on the thick oak branch in front of his window. Deeply engrossed in this activity it seemed completely unaware of being observed. He tilted his head to the left and watched the tiny animal with squinted eyes. It was probably searching for food. Otherwise he could not explain the strange dance it was performing. The little critter's eyes were starting to seriously creep him out. They were shiny, black, little buttons under which a little nose was constantly twitching. The squirrel's little body was trembling with tension and energy. He had to look away. It was making him nervous. After all playing stalker to a tree-rat was not that amusing. He had already lost interest a while ago.

He checked his watch again. It was Friday afternoon, ten to four. Cameron would soon be arriving. She was as reliable as a Swiss clock. These days he found her easy to read, probably because they had spent so much time together. Somehow he found her being so predictable rather comforting. It had been several weeks now since he had checked into rehab and he was slowly beginning to make progress. While his body was getting used to the idea of not having to rely on drugs to function, his mind was notoriously under occupied. Around here there was nothing to be found that posed an intellectual challenge to him. Working at the Princeton Plainsboro afforded him the opportunity to placate the nervous buzzing of the many thoughts inside his head. A nice side effect of constantly handling the most complicated cases was the fact, that he rarely had time for introspection. Rehab provided comparatively little distraction. He had to do everything in his power not to dwell too long on thoughts about his depressing past, crappy present and not all too rosy future. Wilson had also never come to visit.

Cameron was his only link to the outside world, but all she had to offer was small talk, which he hated with an inhuman passion. Needless to say that he wasn't a big fan of the concept of making conversation just for the sake of pleasing your vis-à-vis. If you don't have to say something, then fucking keep your stupid trap shut. Small talk was just an excuse to avoid delving into more serious conversation. It was rarely symptomatic for genuine interest, often entailed fake cheerful answers and boring platitudes. That was probably why he never responded to those polite phrases with more than a monosyllabic grunt. He had not forgotten his promise to talk to her more often, but he just couldn't bring himself to waste time with trivialities just to please her. He wasn't a people pleaser, especially not when suffering from withdrawal. If anything it only made him nastier.

Apart from that he suspected that her motive for coming to visit him nearly everyday was something other than talking to him about the weather or his health. Unlike Deepthought he was not able to solve all the riddles in the universe with just one simple answer. Nonetheless the way she sometimes looked at him, implied that she sure thought he was. The bottom line of all this was that she was just wasting his time by beating around the bush. Why couldn't she simply say what was on her mind? Oh, right! She was a woman. They never said what was on their minds and if they did it was through some elaborate code that needed to be decrypted by some egghead genius or the NASA.

Minutes later, punctually at exactly 4 p.m., he heard her knock on the door. Shortly after, she entered. As usually she appeared to be somewhat tense. She gave him a soft, almost apologetic smile, followed by a shy, "Hi." A few moments later she must have gathered enough courage to stop hovering at his doorstep and enter the room instead. She deposited her huge and rather heavy looking bag on the floor next to his bed. His close proximity made her nervous. As if to hide her discomfort, she started rummaging in her bag without looking for anything in particular.

"Why are you coming here everyday?" He suddenly asked out of the blue, which caused her to stop her supposed rummaging and take to just standing there like a deer caught in headlights

"I've already told you", she replied after a while.

"Yeah, you said you were doing this for yourself and out of the goodness of your golden heart. I'm sorry, but that's just not going to cut it", he shook his head, looking at her as if she was the white board in diagnosis, riddled with all kinds of names of exotic diseases. "Could it be that you're doing this because you are still harbouring that little girlish crush of yours?"

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. The gesture seemed to express her utter frustration with him. Cameron slowly sat down on the chair next to his bed, taking her time to contemplate her next words. "Why is it so hard for you to except that I like you?"

"Except? No, that's quite easy. Rather flattering, too, but not understandable." The way he looked at her implied that he wanted her to do some more explaining. She was beginning to ask herself, why on earth she had come up with the stupid idea that talking with each other would be better than sitting around in uncomfortable silence.

"Understandable? Of course, it is not understandable! Least of all to me! Do you think I would still be here if I could just switch off my feelings?!" Cameron exclaimed. She was getting more and more agitated and her volume increased accordingly.

"So, it's some kind of obsession", he observed calmly and she just wanted to smack him over the head for that. It was so typically him to see her infatuation with him as something pathological.

"Yeah, sure", she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to suppress her anger. She failed, because it was starting to seep into her voice. "Look, I know that this isn't exactly what one would call a healthy…," she hesitated. There was a certain risk in pronouncing the word that lay on the tip of her tongue, but eventually she decided for it, "…relationship, given it can even be called that. I'm trying to rationalize it. I'm trying to understand what I'm feeling. I'm trying to get to know the real you so that this will all stop. For good", Cameron clarified.

"I'm not sure you can."

She looked at him with round eyes, then let out an incredulous chuckle, "I didn't realize you were so full of yourself."

He just shrugged his shoulders casually. "It's not that I think that highly of myself. Once you spent a night puking your guts out, your arms wrapped around the toilet bowl like your holding a lover, you pretty much stop deluding yourself about your own splendour."

"Okay." Cameron said slowly, trying not to feel sorry for him underneath her anger. She only succeeded to a certain degree.

"Well, the thing is that it is just human nature. As much as I hate all those clichéd sayings, but sometimes they just fit. 'Opposites attract' ring a bell? I'm sure it does", he folded his hands in his lap smugly, while Cameron stared at him hostilely from across the room.

"What's that got to do with anything?" she hissed, angry with him for downplaying her emotions like that.

"A lot. I'm sure you've always been Daddy's little girl. No material for 'Girls gone wild'. Have you ever cut loose in your entire life? How about college?" he inserted a dramatic pause. "Sorry, I forgot. You were married back in college, weren't you? And oh, snap! Dearest hubby was sick, so you had to take care of him. Doesn't sound like a lot of fun, if you ask me. Just a wild guess, but I suppose you didn't dance on his grave either", he heard her take in a sharp breath, but continued regardless, "Well, and after that medical school and we all know what a party that is…"

"Alright, I'm stuck up and boring. Is that what you're trying to say?" She interrupted his ramble, her voice quivering with anger by now.

"Well, yes, but it's not your fault." He smiled at her mildly.

"Oh, that's a relief", Cameron responded sarcastically. "Just so you know life isn't about having fun."

"Wow, that's deep. I'm wondering where you picked this one up? I'll let you in on a little secret that will rock your world. Life isn't a box of chocolate either. Unless they suddenly decided that it would be nice to have chocolate with crap filling."

"What matters most in this world is doing what's right", she ignored his cynical interjection and just kept on talking, "Trying to do the best you can, especially when you're responsible for other peoples lives like we are. You can't run through life ramming you're elbows in other peoples' stomachs, expecting it won't come back to bite you in the ass, because it will. Every time."

"Is this supposed to be a lecture about karma and how I am such an evil man?" he made a mock outraged face. "Because I've heard it several times already and it's starting to get old." He stifled a yawn.

"You do remember being shot, do you?"

"Oh, very vividly, thank you", he rubbed his neck.

"Then what is it? Are you not aware of doing any wrong or do you just not care?" Cameron asked slightly breathless.

He usually didn't feel obliged explaining his motives to anybody, but in a way he felt that he owed her. Why not humour her a bit? After all she had been putting up with him for the past weeks and admittedly he had not been at his nicest. "In my experience doing what is necessary doesn't always coincide with doing what is ethically regarded as good. Good and bad are just words, if you will two different perspectives of the same exact thing. Some people will tell you that this idea is the ultimate proof for moral decay, perhaps even devilish. Maybe they are right, but sometimes a rigid sense of morals can hinder you from doing what has to be done. Compassion is something nice if you can afford it. Not everybody can. In its most literal sense it means feeling for someone else and quite frankly you won't get much work done if you're a sobbing mess. So what good is compassion if it leaves you unable to change anything about the situation you're in?"

"So you're saying it doesn't matter what we do as long as we achieve our goals?"

"What good are morals if you're unable to make the right decisions? That way you will never be free."

"I am free to do whatever I want." She shook her head in protest.

"No, Cameron. You're not. You'd like to be just like me, but you can't. Somewhere underneath that obscene amount of niceness there's a part of you that no one has ever seen. The real you. It desperately wants to break loose, but oh! The dilemma! You're working so hard to get everybody's approval that you're never free to be yourself. So you chose to do the next best thing. Fall in love with me, because I unlike you I don't bite my tongue every time a snide remark pops up in my head. I don't play nice, I lie, I cheat, but that's who I am and don't you just love it?" he looked up at her challengingly with his chin raised high and his eyes hard as rocks. He took in her blank expression and then let the final words roll from his tongue. "Well, bad choice."

Her reaction to his revelation was completely unprecedented. He had actually expected her to scream at him, tear out her pretty hair or spit him in the face, but she did nothing of that sort. In spite of it she just smiled at him. "I'm pretty sure I heard all of this before. I need you because I like my men damaged, remember?" she paused as the memories of their disastrous date resurfaced in her mind. Her eyes were directed at the window, through which the bright afternoon sun shone in. It painted golden spots on her irises. "It's been two years and nothing's changed," she sighed. "I think we're stuck."

"Yeah, well, it's clearly not my fault. I'm not the obsessed one lusting after a devastatingly handsome older men. Ugh! Forget that! That came out totally wrong. Still you're the one having a problem", he raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes and made an unmistakable motion with his hand, indicating he thought her to be completely out of her mind.

"Wow! It is not actually possible to have a grown up conversation with you, is it?" She let her arms fall to her sides in resignation. He was already cheering inwardly, because her behaviour told him she was about to give up. Then suddenly a rather preoccupying sparkle appeared in her eyes and quenched his hopes. "Well, obviously I'm not the only one obsessing about us. It seems you spent a lot of time thinking about this…"

"Uh, uh, uh", he admonishingly waved his index finger in the air as if telling off a little child that had just stuck his hand in the cookie jar. "First of all there is no us. I was just bored and had nothing better to do. Don't mistake that for interest."

"Well, okay, I won't", she tried to put on a confident air, nevertheless the fact that he had yet again declared his disinterest stung. "You can say what you want, but you can't deny there is something between us. Whatever that may be…"

"You want to know what I feel right now? A great deal of annoyance, because I'm stuck here in this place….this fucking hellhole. Have you ever heard of Tartarus? Well, this clearly must be it because you're part of the punishment they've cooked up for me. I admit I'm slightly better off than that guy Sisyphus who has roll his rock up the hill or my pal Prometheus who gets his liver chewed out by a giant eagle each day. However I can still claim a respectable third place, because you sit here everyday looking at me from under your cute bangs with those sad puppy dog eyes that keep screaming 'Love me! Love me!' Well, here comes the big scoop! I'm not the solution to your problems. I don't hold all the fucking answers. Go find them yourself!"

"Just so you know. I have long stopped looking at you for answers. It was probably about the time I had to lie for you to save your sorry ass from going to jail", out of impulse she grabbed her bag, hunched it over her shoulder and started walking towards the door. "Consider this the last time I dropped by. I won't bother you anymore."

The door slammed shut behind her. The noise of it echoed down the long corridors of the clinic. House flinched. His eyes were still fixed on the door as if he was expecting her to come back any second now, but she didn't. So he kept waiting. He would sit like that for a few more minutes, but she never came back.

She did not know how she had made it to her car. Everything between leaving his room and arriving there was a blur. With a sudden jerk she turned the keys in the ignition and the car sprang to life. Her hand immediately reached out to turn up the volume of the radio, in order to let its noise drown out her thoughts. The loud music successfully managed to keep her thoughts from constantly dwelling on her recent and very unpleasant conversation with House, but apartment this brief moment of peace was gone as soon as she stepped inside her. Everything was quiet and dark. She reached for the light switch and was once again emerged in the familiar surroundings of her home. It was supposed to be her refuge, a place to collect her thoughts and find her inner calm, but its silence only stirred up the memories of what had just happened.

Cameron slumped down on the couch and kicked off her shoes. As she sat there unwilling to do anything, yet at the same time feeling somewhat jumpy, she suddenly saw the very familiar surroundings of her living room through different eyes. Her books stood on the shelf as neatly aligned as a squadron of saluting soldiers, all surfaces were spotlessly clean and the respective remote controls of her stereo, TV and DVD player were arranged symmetrically on the coffee table in front of her. It was a nightmare of neatness. She groaned and ran her fingers over her face. This could not be happening again? Why did she let him get to her like this? Just to prove him wrong, she bent forward and broke the strict order of the triumvirate of remotes.

His opinion didn't matter. As a matter of fact it didn't matter at all. What did he know about the real her? He had never bothered to get to know her, just made assumptions about her. She was a woman in her late twenties. By now she knew the rules of the game. The times when she had been a hopeless romantic where long gone. She had had her share of tears and heartbreak like everybody else. She thought she'd seen everything and had in time built up a healthy immunity to the charms of most men. That was until she had met him. He was attractive in a very unique way. Like one of the heroes of a Gothic novel. Quite befittingly the feelings he invoked in her were a mixture of love and hate. She felt both very deeply and passionately.

Her fingers trembled as she rearranged the remotes into their previous position. She could not stand looking at them like that. As usual he was right about her. He was most of the time. His words resurfaced from her memory to mock her. Inside her head she kept hearing the words 'stuck up', 'boring', 'nice' as if the were a mantra that was endlessly repeating itself until it faded into an undistinguished murmur. This was ultimate defeat. She had to finally face the facts. She was not able to stand disorder. Not even for a time as short as a few seconds. Her whole flat was proof of that. When friends came to visit, which they rarely did, they often asked her if she had just moved in, because everything looked so spotlessly clean and perfect as if it had been taken straight out of an Ikea catalogue.

She was obsessed with excelling in everything she did and therefore constantly felt the pressure of having to live up to somebody else's expectations, most of all her own. It was exhausting and sometimes drove her to the verge of despair, especially since she had already understood that she did not need to be perfect all the time. However much she tried, she simply couldn't bring herself to live according to that realization. To her failure was the biggest catastrophe imaginable. She did not know how to deal with it, let alone how to put it behind her.

Cut loose? Cameron tried hard to think back when she had last allowed herself a little fun and came up with nothing. Fuck! He was right. Screw him for being right once again! She got up, unsure of what she would do next. Her feet somehow carried her into her bedroom and stopped in front of her closet. She yanked open the doors and took a look inside: blouses, a lot of trousers and virtually no skirts. The predominant colours were black, white, grey and brown. Her elegant evening dress, the only dot of red in her closet, hung there admonishingly, as if to remind her of a part of her long buried and forgotten. She registered dimly that this was a moment of crisis, that she was acting irrationally, but she just couldn't bring herself to care. She pulled out her clothes and disdainfully threw them on the bed behind her. They were a mirror of her personality, the outer hull she carried around for everyone to see. She didn't like what she saw. She saw a woman that was trying hard to give away an air of professionalism. A woman who was aware of being pretty, but instead of being proud of it, she felt ashamed. So she hid her femininity, afraid that her co-workers might not respect her and her patients would think of her as pretty, but incompetent.

The bitter realization, that she was too strict on herself, too obsessed with what everybody else thought about her, forced itself on her. She sat down on her bed in between the chaos of clothes with an exhausted huff. Again she had to fight down the impulse to clean up the mess she made, but this time she came out victorious.

What to do now? She felt empty inside like a teddy bear with ripped out stuffing. Pursuing her daily routine suddenly did not seem worth while. She had a feeling that she needed to do something else, whatever that something else was. She was sure though, that it certainly involved getting out of this apartment that was a little bit too perfect and suddenly felt like a giant cage.

Out of habit she went over to the mirror to check her appearance. The face reflected back at her looked pale and distressed, so she decided to put on some make-up. She wouldn't leave the house without it. Cameron was clear about that fact that this was a sign of weakness, but she also knew that she could draw strength from hiding behind a mask. When she was done she gave herself a final once-over. She looked better now, but she still wasn't satisfied with her appearance. She opened the two top buttons of her white blouse, so that it showed a little cleavage. This time she gave her reflection a pleased nod and then left her apartment with no idea whatsoever as to where she was headed. Not having a plan what to do next was utterly unlike her and therefore made her feel brave and somewhat smug.

After standing around in the cold for a little while, clueless about her next move, she pulled out her cell phone and called a cab. She spent the time waiting for it, trying to come up with a plan for tonight. She felt like having a drink, maybe in a bar or in a club, where she could comfortably melt back into the crowd. There she could be alone, but give up her isolation anytime she wanted to. The cab pulled up and she got in. Until the driver asked her where to go, she hadn't made a decision yet, so she just said rather impulsively, "Some night club."

"Honey, there a couple of them in the area, care to be more precise?" The driver turned around in his seat and looked at her sceptically.

It occurred to her only then that she had never been clubbing since she had moved to Princeton, which had been seven years ago. "I don't know", she said in all honesty.

"New in town?" the man asked.

"Not exactly…"

"Well, there's this club called the 'Mode'. All the cool kids go there. That alright?"

"I guess", she shrugged her shoulders.

"I take that as a yes."

Shortly after they arrived at the 'Mode'. The bright pink neon sign above the door screamed out the night club's name into the night. Cameron paid the driver and got out of the cab. The club seemed to be very popular indeed. People were cueing in front of it and the bass of the music that was playing inside was still audible on the street. She sighed and got in line, unsure whether she still wanted to get in, when it was her turn. She could already feel her bravado fading. Luckily her waiting time was cut short. A bouncer was walking up and down the line, scanning the crowd for people who matched the club's customer profile. He picked her with words, "You're too cute to be waiting in the cold."

The compliment and being able to walk past the rest of the cue, gave her the fleeting feeling of superiority, which burst like a soap bubble once she stepped inside the club. She was overwhelmed by the obtrusively loud music and the massive amount of people that suddenly surrounded her. She tried to make her way across the crowded dance floor, towards the bar. Of course she got her feet trampled on in the process. Once arrived at the bar, she ordered a drink, "I'd like a Vodka Martini, please."

The bartender didn't seem to understand her over the loud music, so she reduced her message to its most important details. "Vodka Martini." This time he got it, gave her a quick nod and was on his merry way. While she was waiting for him to come back with her cocktail, Cameron turned around to check out the crowd.

People were pretty much her age, mid twenties to mid thirties. Most of them were probably celebrating the arrival of the much deserved weekend. Work hard and party even harder. She smiled a little at that thought. This criterion most certainly entitled her to more than a little partying. Her drink arrived and she took it from the bartender's hands with a grateful smile.

She spotted a little table in a dark corner of the room. Cameron sat down there, sipping on her Martini with a thoughtful expression on her face. She was slowly starting to come to her senses. The excitement of doing something new and slightly rebellious was fading and left her with a bitter aftertaste. Was she doing all of this merely to defy House? If that was the case she was acting incredibly immature. She turned the drink around in her hand and then took another sip of it. The liquid was pleasantly cool as it ran down her dry throat. No, she was not doing this just to defy House. She desperately needed this little diversion. More importantly she needed some time to herself. Maybe this would help her to finally come to terms with herself. Perhaps even with him.

She was slowly beginning to relax, nodding her head in time with the music. There was also a good chance she was going to dance later. A smile crept over her face, as she felt herself easing into this new situation. The subtle change that was taking place inside of her did not go by unnoticed. While she had given away a fairly hostile vibe before, she now appeared to be more approachable. A good looking guy raised his bottle of beer and toasted her from across the room. She raised her glass and returned his silent salute. It was only harmless flirtation, but still it felt good to be noticed.

He had not heard from her in over a week. A week felt like an eternity at the Three Oaks Rehabilitation Centre. People around here were used to his gruff mood, but if even humanly possible it had deteriorated in the last couple of days, which had left him with little company and lots of time to kill. He yawned and rubbed his hand over his stubbly chin.

The little TV that was screwed to the ceiling above him was flickering again. He made a face and circumstantially reached for the remote control. His lanky form occupied the whole length of the comfortable, but rather worn looking sofa in the community room. Since he had entered it, it had magically evacuated in only a couple of minutes. A few snide comments there, a sarcastic remark here and viola. He grinned contently.

Then suddenly a silhouette appeared above him. "Hi", a female voice said softly. He was drowsy and a little disorientated from lying around, so it took him a few seconds to recognize who it was. Cameron. Something was different about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. New clothes? New haircut? He was very bad when it came to noticing all those little things. He sat up slowly, fighting down the dizziness he felt.

Without asking for his permission she slumped down on the couch besides him. She was sitting close to him like they were friends and touching him was an everyday currency. Too close for comfort. He was too puzzled by her presence to comment on her actions. Deep down he hadn't expected her to return.

They weren't friends. He wasn't sure what they were. What he knew though, was that her sitting so close made him nervous. He scooted around in his seat and she pretended not to notice. "What are you watching?" She asked innocently.

"The yellow smutches there are supposed to be Bart, Homer and March", he mumbled in between clenched teeth.

She tilted her head and squinted to better make out the pictures on the screen "Awful reception."

"Really? I thought it was just the Meth kicking in", he flashed her a mock grin.

"You're not taking any Meth."

"Who told you that?"

"Six years of medical school."

"Fine. No Meth."

She nodded and they said there for a while watching the multicoloured blurs moving on the TV screen above them.

"You were gone for a week", he said after a while. His tone was conversational as if this just had occurred to him.

"Oh, you noticed?" Somehow she could not suppress the triumphant smile that threatened to spread on her face.

"Yes", he answered matter-of-factly.

"Did you miss me?" He gave her a puzzled look that clearly indicated he was doubting her sanity. Had she not learned her lesson last time? What surprised him even more was the fact that she did not seem to be the least bit ashamed. She didn't even have the decency to blush.

"No", House answered brusquely.

"Sure", her tone indicated that she didn't believe a single word he was saying.

He let out a long drawn sigh. Talking to her sometimes made him feel like he was Sisyphus.

"You're not easy to be around either", she commented dryly.

"No, I'm a bundle of joy. You're obnoxious."

"Of course, you are. Everybody wants to be near you", Cameron looked around the empty room pointedly.

Instead of a retort he just threw her a meaningful look. She didn't have to hear him speak to know what it meant. He wanted to be left alone. Her presence was bothering him, because it forced him to deal with her, which usually meant dealing with his issues as well. If she had wanted to respect his wishes and allow him to take the easy way out, she would not have bothered coming back. In a way she felt she had never left at all. Her thoughts had been with him all week, in spite of what had happened between them. So she had decided she might as well come here in person.

However much he tried to give away the impression that it didn't matter to him whether she was there or not, he could not hide his feelings completely. His surprised, perhaps even slightly relieved expression, when he had first seen her, was telltale. As usual it was the little subtle things that let her know he cared. The only problem with that was that she sometimes felt like she was imagining things, which let her to occasionally doubt her own sanity.

Cameron desperately needed to know that what she felt was not hopeless obsession, that her coming here wasn't just a pointless waste of time. He had by now turned back his attention to the flickering TV screen above them, which afforded her the possibility to watch him curiously from underneath her eyelashes. His posture was stiff and unnatural as if he was constantly very aware of her closeness and also extremely uncomfortable with it. She gulped. What she was about to do was probably very stupid and would most definitely not find his approval.

She reached out and let her fingers run over the back of the hand. He almost jumped in his seat, then, when he had recovered a little, threw her a warning glance. She was invading his personal bubble. He did not appreciate that. She took in a deep breath and ignored his reproachful look. It took a lot of courage to do so, because usually she respected his wish to be left alone, but maybe that had been a mistake all along. He had always rejected her with his words, while his body language had been telling a different story. He gave her intense glances that held unspoken words and fantasies he had never acted on. Fleeting and casual touches became loaded with significance when she looked into his eyes. She dived into those pools of blue and allowed herself to live in that moment for a little while, but she wasn't satisfied with moments and fantasies anymore. She could not stand another 'what-if'.

Her fingers slowly travelled up, towards his wrists. Their touch was very soft, almost featherlike as if she was touching a china figure she was afraid to break. Much more tender and personal like any woman had touched him in the last couple of years. It intrigued him. After a brief moment of contemplation he decided that he liked it and that he would allow her to continue. Her fingers traced a zigzag pattern over his arm. He watched them as they did so, acknowledging their presence just as he was acknowledging and tolerating their touch. Goosebumps spread on his skin as she reached the hollow of his arm and he closed his eyes conceding himself one single moment of enjoyment. However he could not let himself fall. As usually he skidded along the edge, looked down and stopped at the last possible moment. Pleasure was not for him. He didn't deserve a reward. His eyes snapped open again.

"No", he uttered just this single word to voice his protest. It would have cost him too much strength to say more.

Her hand stopped, but she did not withdraw it. It rested upon his forearm. "This is not wrong. You're allowed to enjoy this", her voice sounded reassuring, but he felt her fingers tremble.

He took a breath, tried to start talking, waited for some sarcastic comment to pop up in his head, but his wit failed him just like his tongue.

"Please, don't say anything", her voice had an almost imploring quality to it. As if to emphasize her words her fingers wrapped around his hand, which appeared almost brute and callous compared to hers. At first his hand was curled into a fist, but eventually his grip loosened and allowed her fingers entangle with his. They sat like this until the lights faded and the flicker of the TV was the only thing to illuminate the room.


	4. Wallowing in SelfPity is Fun

People say cats are stubborn. They are not like dogs. Dogs actually hear when they're called, but not cats. They pretend like they didn't even hear your voice and simply keep on doing whatever they were doing. They are stubborn and even though domesticated….no, they are never really domesticated. They just choose to live under some person's roof, because they offer them shelter and something to eat. They can't be controlled and don't even think about training them. It won't work unless they are in a good mood and find your attempts of forcing a particular behaviour on them marginally amusing.

Cameron placed a bowl of cat food on her kitchen floor. When the porcelain connected with the terracotta tiles it made a soft and hollow noise like a distant bell. Miss Murphy, her cat, immediately started munching on the offered food noisily. She watched her little furry companion with a bemused smile on her lips. Her thoughts had by now taken a different turn and settled on a topic that was very different, yet at the same time in some regards the same. Just like with Miss Murphy you never quite knew what to expect of House...

She thought about yesterday, how they had sat there next to each other just holding hands pretending like they were actually watching the TV that was flickering above them. She still wasn't sure what it meant. Whether this was minimal progress or just a small concession from his side in order to make up for his harsh words from before. Maybe it was his way of saying sorry, since things always turned bad when he tried to apologize. It never came to an actual apology. He usually just kept insulting people more and more.

She started to mull over the situation again, pondering all its different aspects: the things he had said and how they could be interpreted. She tried to analyze the looks he had given her, unsure of what they might have meant. Then it occurred to her that she was doing it again. She was over-thinking stuff again, which usually made her more miserable than she was before.

This time she was determined not to go down that road again. Her constant obsessing about all those little things was part of what she loathed about herself. It was part of her urge to always excel which she now perceived as an unnecessary trail she was putting herself through. She desperately wanted to become someone stronger; a more confident version of herself that would be able to silence that nagging inner voice that just wouldn't shut up.

The only problem was that she didn't have the slightest idea how to do that. House never seemed to be eaten up by doubts. He never seemed to be second guessing his own actions, but she also knew where that had led him, so maybe his behaviour should not be a paradigm to her – at least not in all respects. Maybe it would be helpful addressing things whenever they came up and not always biting back the comments that lay on the tip of her tongue. In the end it was probably more important that she was satisfied with herself than others being satisfied with her. She paused to contemplate those thoughts, biting her lower lip pensively.

"What does being addicted mean? The reason why you're here is to find out more about yourself and how this all started. Once you will have discovered the cause of your addiction you will be able to counteract it," Maggie Henderson clarified. She leaned back in her armchair and watched him expectantly.

The displeasure on his face was transparent. Just like her he hated every single one of their little talks. The only difference between them was that she didn't let it show. Plus the fact that she actually received a pay check at the end of the month for putting up with him.

He rubbed his temples with frustration, then decided to speak, "Look, I know that this will probably be a showstopper to you, but I don't just use a cane because I like pimping it big style. Thanks to the infarction half of my thigh muscle's actually gone. Do you see the problem there?"

Dr. Henderson wrote down a note on the clipboard that rested on her knees. When she was done with it, she looked at him over the rim off her glasses. "I'm aware of that, but have you ever considered that they way you deal with pain might be part of the problem?"

"Wow, brilliant. That never occurred to me. Now that you mention it, Dr. Brothers, I'm actually starting to realize that I might have a pain problem. I repent and vow to change my ways. Can I go now?" House rolled his eyes at her. This was starting to get old real quick.

"No", she said flatly. He let out an annoyed huff, reminding her very much of her teenage daughter who was waiting for her at home. He had the same defiant and rebellious attitude. "Since you already knew this, I will cut the chase which will allow you and me to minimize the time we spend together."

"Brilliant," he sat up in his armchair, suddenly filled with new enthusiasm. The leather made a slight squeaking noise as he shifted his position.

"I thought you would say that", she threw him a false smile, which he requited with the same insincerity. "So, I think what lies underneath it all, is the fact that you're unwilling to deal with the pain", she admonishingly raised her index finger when he was about to interrupt her and make a snide remark. "I wasn't done talking yet...It's not just pain we're talking about, you're unwilling to deal with any kind of emotion at all. Talking your pills affords you the luxury of actually being able to immediately shut off the pain. You like the feeling of numbness they give you, because you don't like to feel. You choose to take the easy way out, instead of dealing with your issues."

"God, you're so right!" he clapped his hands together in mock enthusiasm. "Consider me a changed man as off this day. I'll go adopt an orphan and a puppy, too. Guess I better be double quick about it before Angelina beats me to it. Hey, here's a thought! Maybe she will even hook up with me and we can make a sweet little family of our own. Brad will never know what hit him."

Dr. Henderson just smiled at him humourlessly. "I think I said enough for today. We'll see each other on Wednesday."

His hostile gaze bore into her for a while then he got up abruptly and limped out of the room. The light flooded hallways were by now familiar to him just of the high pitched squeak of his trainers on the linoleum floor. The huge clock above the door that connected this wing of the clinic with the wing, where the patients' room were located announced that it was nearly 4 p.m. His speed increased. He did not try to analyze why.

He made it to the entrance hall with enough time to spare, so that he could sit down on a bench and catch his breath. The way he was draped on it, in a carefully studied posture of nonchalance and boredom, gave away the impression that he was there purely by chance. However his being in this place was purely intentional.

She was visibly surprised when she saw him sitting there, waiting for her or rather trying to appear as if he was waiting for nothing at all and just hanging around. The steady rhythm of her clicking heals was broken, when she abruptly came to a halt. Her eyes wandered here and there as she tried to quickly assess the situation. "House", she said almost questioningly.

"Cameron", he nodded at her. Their exchange of greetings had something awkward and slightly stiff about it. The awkwardness didn't even have the decency of disappearing after that.

She shuffled around on her feet self-consciously, tugging at the strap of her messenger bag. "What are you doing down here?" The change in their routine made her nervous. It was never a good sign with him.

"Nothing", he shrugged his shoulders.

She deposited her bag on the floor. Her inner voice decided to speak up to remind her about her resolutions she had made the night before. Cameron grimaced, but then straightened and tried to put on a brave face. She would go through with it if it killed her.

"Okay", she said slowly, "so you were sitting in an empty entrance hall doing nothing. Wow, rehab must be really getting to you, huh?" Her comment was blunter than usual. Probably thanks to the fact that she had decided she always wanted to speak her mind from now on.

House raised an eyebrow. "No, rehab is a fun place to be at. That's probably why Britney checked in twice last week." In order to round off his sarcastic comment he shot her a dirty look.

She took his remark in and decrypted it so she could understand its true meaning. His mood was worse than usual. She would not let that go by unaddressed and simply swallow it down like she had done so many times.

"Someone's in a good mood", Cameron observed dryly. "Must be Tuesday again. You didn't just get out of your single session with Dr. Henderson by chance?" Cameron crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him expectantly.

"You might know her as Dr. Henderson", he motioned her to come closer with his index finger. She did so to humour him. She would not like to have made the two hour drive here for naught. "To me she's the evil demon lady from hell", he whispered conspiratorially.

The corners of her mouth twitched briefly, but the amused expression disappeared from her face seconds later. She took a step back.

An expression of displeasure briefly flitted over his face. He did not like how this day was turning out. He could not get Cameron to smile about his jokes and the final words of Dr. Henderson still echoed in his hand, taunting him and making him angry. He wanted to discard them like they were the crazy ravings of a mad woman, but unfortunately they had already engrained themselves too deeply in his brain. He needed a second opinion. He wanted someone to tell him that this Henderson woman was just some quack that was cooking up some half-assed theories.

"That woman doesn't even know what she's talking about. She's happy as long as she can keep on jabbing. I bet she's getting off to the sound of her own voice."

"I don't know, House. I think it might actually make sense listening to her. She's an expert after all."

He let out a long sarcastic laugh that echoed eerily from the high walls of the entrance hall. "Funny, I thought she got her diploma watching Oprah. Even you could come up with a more accurate diagnosis than she did." He got up from the bench. His bummer leg demanded he'd move about a little or else it would punish him by sending waves of pain through his system.

"Here's an idea! Why don't you give it a shot? I recall you being quite the hobby shrink yourself." He suggested casually while he hoppled towards the door that gave away to the park of the facility. Cameron hunched her bag over her shoulder and followed him hesitantly. The feeling that she was stumbling into a carefully laid trap was forcing itself on her.

She took her time to answer. "Only if I have to."

He let out soft chuckle. She knew him well. "You do."

"What if I don't want to?" He had not expected this question from her. He was not used to her refusing him anything.

"This is not the Invasion of the Body Snatchers, is it?" he commented on her uncharacteristic behaviour. "Maybe I was wrong assuming that you were endlessly fascinated by me."

For a while the gravel crunching underneath their feet as they walked was the only sound to be heard. Then she finally decided to speak again. "What was her diagnosis about?"

"About what caused my addiction", he answered. He was walking slightly ahead, in spite of his injured leg. Cameron couldn't make out his face which made him hard to read, but strangely she found herself not caring about it for once. She wanted to answer that question, because she had put a lot of thought into it during the last couple of months. Still her sense of decency held her back. "I'm not sure you want to hear what I'm thinking."

"I've just asked, haven't I?" he turned around to look at her. His hard eyes bore into her, their intensity unfiltered. She stuck up her chin and held his gaze.

"Fine, I'll tell you. You'd say it's all about the leg, but I'm guessing it's not quite as simple as that." She felt his eyes on her, dissecting every expression on her face, which was pretty unnerving, but she continued talking nevertheless. "It might have started out like that at first. Your injury made you miserable, but from there things only got worse. You alienated everyone you cared about, which only made you more miserable in return. You got used to that feeling and learned to deal with it, until nothing else seemed to exist in your universe, but pain." He made a face at her theatrical choice of words, but let her continue. "You like to be in control. You don't like to take any risks when it comes to your own life. Pain is something you're familiar with. Maybe it's even consoling, because you know how to control it by taking your pills. They switch the pain off and leave you back pleasantly numb, which allows you to function without any feelings. I guess that's quite alright with you since, you're afraid of them, anyway." She fell silent abruptly and busied herself with looking down at the dusty tips of her shoes so that she didn't have to meet his eyes.

"Obviously you're just as stupid as she is", House said harshly.

"You asked for my opinion. Just because you don't like what I had to said doesn't mean it's stupid." Instead of trotting away with her head hanging, she looked at him angrily. "I think you've gotten so used to being miserable, that you don't even remember what it feels like to be happy. Do you...do you want to be happy at all?"

She had not actually expected him to answer that question. She did not know what she had expected. He abruptly turned around and started walking ahead with a speed that was rather impressive considering his bad leg. She stayed behind frozen in place, amazed by her own boldness. She had never thought herself capable of telling him those things. Her words had pieced themselves together over the last couple of years. She had probably formulated them a hundred times inside her head, but never dared to actually speak them out loud.

What would we do now? How would he react? She had no idea. She never knew how he reacted to anything. That was one of the things that intrigued her about him. He was entirely unpredictable. Still she refused to leave it at that and simply go home. With a sigh Cameron slowly started walking again. The winding garden path eventually led her to a little bench underneath a crooked elm tree. She sat down there. For a while it was amusing to trace patterns in the gravel with her shoes, but then she lost interest and was soon just sitting there staring blankly ahead. He had completely disappeared from her view, but somehow she was actually thankful for that. She had little desire to be verbally abused by him.

The minutes glided by like seconds. The wind brushed through the grass and shook the branches of the tree above her. Some of its leaves spiralled down and landed at her feet. She looked at them as they lay in the dust, wrinkled up, orange and dry. A pair of trainers invaded her range of vision. He had come back. She said nothing to acknowledge his presence, not even when he sat down next to her and dangled his arms over the backside of the bench. His cane clattered against it. She barely perceived the sound.

Having said those things to him felt downright liberating, like she had transgressed some sort of boundary and could now ask him anything without being worried whether he approved or not. Above all it made her feel confident and relaxed. The need to constantly prod him with personal question had suddenly disappeared. They were good at the silences anyway, so she let it unfold and stretch out before her.

Surprisingly it was he, who felt the need to break the silence after a while. "Why don't you ask already? You must be dying to know."

His words slowly penetrated the daze of wordlessness. She frowned and looked at him in honest confusion. "Ask you what?"

"Oh, come on! I totally expected that the first thing you'd say to me would be something along the lines of "House, are we like going steady now?'" he said in the mocking tone of a valley girl.

He surprised her. Her breath hitched in her throat for a second, but then she herself caught again. "Sorry to disappoint. If it's any consolation to you, I was planning on slipping you a note with yes, no, maybe later on, so we could finally settle that once and for all."

His eyes widened comically at her response. Then his lips curled into a smile, which then developed into booming laughter – the honest kind. It turned out to be slightly infectious. Especially since it occurred so rarely that she heard him laugh like this. After a while it finally trickled out into low and humming chuckles. "Wow, did you just pass up an opportunity to talk about an illusionary us? Seems like you've finally grown a pair, Cameron. Good on you! Good on you!" he finally said slightly out of breath.

She turned and smiled at him. Her face was relaxed and there was an expression on it he had never seen before. Unguarded was the word he was looking for. Yes, that was really something he didn't see too often. He supposed this part of her to be something that was reserved to family and friends, because at work she was always tense. Why was that anyway? He had never stopped to think about it until now. Of course, there was the immense burden of being a doctor, it sounded even ironic inside his head, but he suspected that was not it. She should have by now gotten used to his sarcastic remarks, so he was tempted to exclude that from his list as well. Or maybe not?

The smile had disappeared by now, but her eyes were still glued to his face. They probably had a slightly hypnotic effect, because it seemed to be out of his power to look away like so many times before. His eyes fell on her lips. They were pretty lips. No lipstick on them, still pink and rosy, nicely curved and what a greater sap would have called luscious. She wouldn't object if he kissed her now. That was what she wanted, right? That is if she still wanted it.

It was not the first time he had thought about kissing her. It was a fantasy he liked to indulge in occasionally. As long he could resist the urge he was in control of the situation. Control was something good. Control equalled power. It turned out that at this point, after his barriers had been worn down by her persistency, this power began to fade. He leaned a bit further towards her. Her eyes widened in shock and she tensed. He hadn't wanted that. What to do now? His resolve began to waver.

"What are you doing?" She asked her voice was barely above a whisper. Maybe she was afraid to scare him away.

"Nothing", he lied. After all everybody did, so why shouldn't he?

She successfully suppressed the urge to point her finger at him and tell him that he was a liar. The only indication of what she really thought was a raised eyebrow. Was he trying to kiss her? Did he really want to do that or was he just messing with her again? She had no idea what do, so she did nothing, hoping that that would be the right course of action.

He looked insecure. Not at all like the brass and callous House she had to deal with on a daily basis. It frightened her a little and made her doubt whether she knew him at all. What was the real him? This one? The other? Both? Struck by this revelation she was unable to move. All she could do was sit there and look at him in surprise.

He came closer. She could smell his aftershave; hear the soft rustle of his clothes as he leaned into her. Contact. The first thing she felt was the stubble of his beard rubbing up against her skin. Scruffy, but strangely pleasant. Then his lips on hers, kissing her chastely, almost reverently. His eyes were closed. She didn't expect them to be closed, but they were. She was still too much in shock about the fact that he was actually kissing her to enjoy this. Her head could do nothing else, but try to analyze the situation frantically.

He broke away from her. Now the expression on his face was typically House – mostly mocking with a miniscule bit of true emotion thrown in the mix. "Now that's just no fun. You'd better cooperate or I'll call it quits."

She sucked in her breath in outrage. "You're so incredibly romantic."

"You're so incredibly stuck up, I'd probably need a whole mini-bar to get you to unwind", he said with a provocative grin. His eyes were still fixed on her lips. The intentions she read in them were contradicting his harsh words, which convinced her to stay where she was instead of storming off in a huff.

The craziness of the moment as well as the bittersweet irony behind his words made her start laughing. It was he who had needed three whole years to finally admit that he was attracted to her. Even now he wasn't exactly admitting any feelings for her, he was just kissing her. Instead of rubbing it in his face she chose to take the high road. Plus, if she said something now, she'd ruin everything.

"Sticks and stones", Cameron said lightly and shrugged her shoulders. She brushed a strain of hair behind her ears that the wind kept blowing into her face, preparing the next words she'd said inside her head. She never came as far as actually uttering them. She suddenly felt his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close. She was hyperaware of its soft but demanding pressure and the fact that he was coming closer and closer. This time she was prepared, but he wasn't.

She had fallen in love with him three years ago. He had trampled on her emotion and she had learned how to suppress them so that she could function properly. They lay dormant the whole time through, occasionally she was reminded of them by a sharp sting at her heart when another disappointment crossed her way, but now they had returned full force and mixed with a considerable portion of frustration.

A hesitant contact of lips at first, then when she had gathered enough courage, tenderness made room to passion. She grew bolder, let her instinct take over and guide her. She had not expected him to reciprocate the kiss with the same ardour, but he did. He pulled her closer, his hands roaming over her back. Entangled. He could feel her pressed against him, her hands in his hair, her body warmth and the way her breast rose and fell with each breath. The need to verify whether the long nourished suspicion that that the body she hid underneath those clothes was as gorgeous as he had always been imaging, increased in intensity. What happened around them, where they where, didn't matter anymore.

The kiss was anticipating what was delineating before his mind's eye with more and more clarity. A dance: hot, wet, a little tender, mostly wild, and definitely intoxicating. Then it stopped abruptly. Of course, it had to. Everything good was not supposed to last very long. He found himself to be somewhat disappointed. He had not wanted it to stop.

"Um…I'm sorry," she said. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling, hair slightly dishevelled, pupils dilated. He took it all in with a certain satisfaction, what didn't make him feel all warm and fuzzy though, was the fact that she felt the need to apologize right now.

It took a couple of seconds before he could respond. He felt kind of peculiar: a mixture of shock, disappointment, anger and hurt pride. He refused to let her see that so he simply gulped down his emotions just the way he usually did and tried to act his normal charming self. "No, need to be sorry. You're not that bad a kisser. I was actually quite impressed with the tongue action." There, he was back on track and able to muster a smug smile on top of it.

"I'm not sorry about the kiss," she looked down, unconsciously licking her lips. "I'm just not sure what it is that is happening here. What it means." Cameron raised her head to meet his eyes when she said the last words. She needed to see his reaction.

"Does it have to mean anything?"

"Yes, it does." 


	5. Call Me Orpheus

Today Dr. Allison Cameron came to work a slightly changed woman. She usually avoided conflict whenever she could - it was the sort of person she was. She always tried to get along with everyone, because harmony was something she needed in order to function properly. Conflict usually made her feel helpless and exposed, so she usually tried to avoid it. Today, however, standing up for herself suddenly didn't seem so terrifying. For once she could express her opinion without feeling the need to excuse immediately afterwards. Even the way she walked down the halls had become more self-assured and purposeful.

It wasn't as if that sudden surge of confidence had suddenly transformed her into another person overnight. She was still nice, but her niceness didn't extend to a level that bordered on masochism anymore. Before things got out of hand she would draw the line politely, but determinedly nonetheless.

This sudden change wasn't entirely consistent though. Sometimes, particularly in moments of stress, she would lapse back into old patterns of behaviour, but only briefly so. She always managed to catch herself before her credibility began to suffer.

Foreman and Chase had taken her mood swings as an excuse to disappear and pursue their duties somewhere other than close to her. That was why she found the conference room empty and silent when she came in to do her paperwork. She went over to the coffee machine to pour herself a cup of the coffee. Her hand hovered for a moment indecisively above the mugs. The red one was sitting there on the shelf untouched. She threw it a longing sideway glance, ere she grabbed the plain white one beside it. The hot beverage idly dribbled into her mug, while she stared out of the window. Her thoughts were somewhere else entirely. It was pure luck that she noticed in time that the coffee was about to spill over the rim of her cup. She let out a silent curse more elaborate and colourful than anyone would have believed her capable of and cautiously made her way back to the table, balancing her mug with one steady hand. The coffee was very hot which forced her to take small sips, while she stared blankly ahead.

He had kissed her. It had finally happened. It seemed that the last three years had slowly built up to this moment, though his reaction was truly anticlimactic. He had been nothing but evasive. She hadn't exactly expected him to declare his undying love for her, but it would have been nice if he had just thrown her a crumb. Anything. Now it was up to her again to make sense of his strange behaviour.

Of course, she knew that the kiss had meant something. It was House! It had to mean something. He never did anything without a reason or out of the spur of the moment. She had believed that the more time she spent with him, the better she would get to know him. Instead the opposite had happened. Now he appeared to be even more mysterious in her eyes.

The rational and calculating part of him could have just done it to see what it was like and how she'd react to it. She didn't want to believe that, but however unpleasant the idea was, she had to take it into consideration. She let out a sigh and rubbed her temples tiredly.

There was something that spoke against it though. The way he had looked at her when she first touched his hand ...Back then, he hadn't been the brass and abrasive person she was used to being around. It had just been a fleeting moment, but it meant the world to her, because then she had been allowed a brief glimpse at his true self, or what she assumed it was. Someone shy and insecure, who was unable to deal with the emotions he felt. For a moment the roles had been reversed. He had been at her mercy, not the other way around. She had not enjoyed it. Quite the opposite - it had scared her out of her wits and made her realize what loving him really meant, and the responsibility that came with it.

She knew him as a man who didn't like to talk about himself. He had erected all those thick walls around himself in order to prevent people from seeing what he truly was like. What lay underneath it all? Who was he? Why did he want her? And most importantly …did she want him?

He was a very complex character. Whatever he did, he went about it with fierce determination. Others would call it stubbornness. She preferred the euphemistic way of putting it: intense – that was what he was. He never did anything without dedication, at least when he had decided on doing it. It was something that they had in common, something that attracted her to him. However, attraction was not the only thing she felt. His intensity also terrified her a great deal. It meant do or die - a scary thought.

Being with him would take a lot of patience and strength and she wasn't sure she had it in her. These two qualities were doubtlessly essential prerequisites for a relationship with him, since House was the epitome of everything complicated. An ironic smile briefly delineated on her face, then disappeared again as fast as it had come.

But, oh! There was something about him that she never had been able to quite put her finger on. Maybe if she could, she would have long been able to quit feeling for him the way she did. It was like an invisible bond, like a silent lure. It made her skin prickle, her heart speed up when he entered a room. It made her feel connected to him, even if it may have just been a childish illusion all long.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to tell him when she next saw him.

Tonight. She would go to visit him again tonight. She wanted it …yet, somehow she didn't. But if she didn't go, she would spend all night thinking about him, so she really had no choice. 'Can you do rehab if you're addicted to a person?' she thought to herself in quiet desperation. Who was she kidding? She could never quit him, even if he was acting like the biggest asshole that ever walked the earth. So what was she to do now? She had no answers to any of her questions.

She got up from her chair, suddenly feeling a need for fresh air. However, the last thing she needed right now was more suspicious looks and hushed gossip spread behind her back, so stepping out on the corridor was out of question. Her gaze wandered over towards House's empty office. All of a sudden, the prospect of stepping out on the balcony for a second to catch a whiff of fresh air was very appealing. She pushed open the sliding door that divided his office from the conference room and stepped inside. Purposefully striding towards the balcony, she stopped when the tip of her right shoe brushed against the grey red ball that House usually played with. When she looked down at it, her face fell. She just stood and stared at it. It seemed to be mocking her. The blank expression disappeared from her face and was shortly after replaced by a frown. With added gusto she kicked the ball out of the way. It bounced against the side of his desk and rolled out of view.

She stepped out on the balcony. The air was cool against her face and she closed her eyes as the warming rays of the autumn sun fell on her face. Birds were chirping and far away she could discern the steady rushing of cars driving by. However, the peacefulness of this sanctuary was soon to be disturbed, when a few moments later, she heard a door slide open to her left and footsteps approach.

"Isn't it a little chilly to be taking a sunbath?" A male voice asked, his tone soft and gentle, trying not to startle her.

"Isn't sunlight supposed to induce beta-endorphin release? I'm waiting for the happiness to kick in", she answered, with her eyes still closed. She didn't need to open them to know it was Wilson.

"I see he's been rubbing off on you." Now, was that an accusation or just an observation? She blinked and then opened her eyes to see. The expression on his face was relaxed, so probably just an observation.

He let out a long drawn sigh. He didn't mean to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. "How's he been doing?"

"He is…" she started. He looked at her and noticed she looked tired. There were lines around her eyes that hadn't been there before. Frankly she didn't know how he was doing, she realised. She could only guess, but guessing wasn't an adequate answer to Wilson's question. It was just a sign of weakness, something that was looked down upon in their profession, where everything was about precision and logic. "I don't know," she said finally, sounding very resigned.

"Shouldn't you? I thought you've been there like every day out of the week," he stepped up to the balustrade and looked down at the green in front of the hospital disinterestedly.

"How do you know what I do after work? I've never told anyone that I went to see him," her eyes narrowed.

"It didn't take a lot to figure it out. You couldn't just sit there and do nothing, knowing what he was probably going through. It's just who you are." She saw him shrug his shoulder from the corner of her eye.

"I need your advice," she said abruptly, turning to look at him.

"I suppose you do," he answered enigmatically.

"Does that mean yes, you're willing to help me or is this just an evasive way of telling me no?" she stepped up to the small wall that divided the two balconies from each other.

"I just want to know what I'm getting myself into before I answer."

"Fine," she shuffled her feet, carefully keeping her eyes to the ground in order to meeting his. "We kissed."

That most certainly managed to secure her his undivided attention. "Who? You and House?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Cameron looked at him curiously. A part of her drew sadistic pleasure from the fact that she was able to shock him, the other was worried about how he would react. Would he judge her for what she had done?

"Oh, boy!" he ran his hand through his hair. After a moment of internal debate he spoke again. "Do you want to come inside?" he nervously motioned at the glass door behind him that let inside his office.

"Yes," she gave the small obstacle that stood in her way a doubting glance. Taking the long way around didn't seem like an attractive alternative. She would literally have to throw herself at the wolves. So she summoned her courage and hopped across the barrier with one graceful motion. Having overcome that small obstacle, she stepped up to Wilson with a smug grin on her face. Memories of her childhood resurfaced in her mind. Back then she had done a lot of running and jumping, feeling free and happy. They briefly swirled in her head only to be shortly after buried again. The smile disappeared. Emotionally she was in a rather glum state. It would take a lot more than happy memories to cheer her up.

Ever the gentleman, Wilson opened the door for her, motioning her to step inside. She did so and sat down in the leather couch which usually accommodated Wilson's patients. He sat down in the armchair opposite of her. The couch felt comfortable. The pragmatism of this sudden struck her. The patients did at least somewhere nice to sit when he gave them the bad news that they were soon going to die.

"So…" Wilson said for a lack of a better introduction. "You kissed. Did he…or did you?"

"No, no he did."

"Oh," a long pause followed and then he finally said, "That's good."

"You think?" She had crossed her legs and the tip of her right shoe was slowly moving up and down like it was counting heartbeats or seconds.

"Well, don't you?" He asked in return and scooted to the edge of his seat, looking at her curiously.

"I don't know," she sighed. "What if it's just another mind game?" she paused pondering upon that possibility for a while. The constant back and forth with House had worn her out. She did not know how much more she could handle before something inside her broke irreversibly. "And what if it's not?" Cameron continued her voice low and fragile. "What if I push him away and ruin the one shot we have?"

"Cameron," he pronounced her name only a friend could, with a lot of affection, but also with a hint of compassion in his voice. She felt understood and even a little consoled. Perhaps that was why he was so good at his job. "As far as my understanding of House goes, I think that he likes you. Despite of what he might have said in the past."

"I know," she gave him a crooked little smile.

"You do?" Her statement surprised him.

"Of course, I do. Why else would I stick around?"

A long pause ensued. Wilson needed time to wrap his mind around the thought that apparently Cameron was more insightful than he had given her credit for, while Cameron was trying to organize the disarray of thoughts inside her head.

"It's just so frustrating…" she broke the silence. She had not spoken about this to anyone and now that the possibility was there, she couldn't hold back the words any longer. "I've been working with him for three years now and I can hardly tell what he's like. What I know about him is just what I learned from working with him everyday. Just some little things…how he likes his coffee and…that when he's playing with his gameboy, he is really thinking about a case. It helps him concentrate…And he never irons his shirts, because he has to wear them. He likes to pretend he isn't concerned with appearances and then again he owns at least three different pairs of Converses. He always wears sneakers…Why is that anyway?" When she continued her voice was as low and reverential like she was talking to herself. "Sneakers and a cane. Pretty masochistic. He's not going to take a run in the park anytime soon. There's nothing like home made torture, I guess." She smiled wistfully at Wilson.

"Seems to me like you know him pretty well," Wilson reciprocated the smile tentatively.

"But I don't!" She said almost despairingly, "Don't you get it?! All those things, I had to figure out myself. He never talks about personal things. Even asking him how he feels is like stepping foot on a minefield. How can I claim to know him when all I'm doing is filling out the blanks with assumptions that might not even be correct?"

Wilson had no answer to this, so the moment passed by in tense silence. "Does he every talk to you about personal things?" Cameron asked finally.

Wilson hesitated for moment before he replied, unsure whether he was betraying Houses's trust if he answered that question. "Rarely and when he does it's like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle," he said finally. "A big, complicated one that takes years," he added on an afterthought.

"See!...I don't know if I have that kind of patience or if I'm willing to reach out to him again and again, despite of being burned each time I try. I don't know if I can do that. How long I can hold out until…" her low voice faded out into an emotion filled silence. She shook her head, trying to hold back the tears that collected in her eyes. Her vision was already blurring, but she was determined not to cry. She wanted to be stronger than this. She would not break down. She would not give up. When she spoke again her voice already sounded a bit firmer, "I don't want to be alone when I'm with him. I want him to want it, too. I want him to make that effort and show me that it means something."

"What if he can't?" Wilson asked with a preoccupied frown on his face. It would border on a miracle if Cameron actually managed to drag House's emotions out into the open.

She was about to answer his question, but then her eyes caught sight of something that made the words die in her throat. She looked like a fish taken out of the water for a few seconds than she regain the ability to talk again. "House is standing outside the door," she managed to get out finally. A mixture of surprise and outrage made her voice sound shrill.

"Is that some kind of metaphor?" Wilson asked perplexed, scooting nervously in his seat.

"No, House is really there," she said in an absent voice, slowly getting up from the couch.

Wilson turned around abruptly to see that in fact House was standing in front of his office door. He, in turn, seemed to be enjoying the shocked looks his unexpected appearance evoked immensely. A devilish smile spread on his face as he slowly waved his hand at them.

A muttered, "Holy shit!" was all Wilson could get out, but Cameron's reaction was a bit faster. With purposeful strides she made her way to the door and ripped it open with a bit more force than was actually required for the task. Her emotions had quickly changed from depressed to outraged at the sight of him.

"What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in rehab?!" Her eyes sparkled dangerously. He had never seen her this angry, so maybe this had all been worthwhile.

"I'd expected a much warmer welcome", he wiggled his brows at her suggestively. All the thanks he received for that comment was an icy stare. "Fine be that way…You do remember that I'm a doctor? I thought you would be clever enough to deduce the significance of my being here…in a hospital. Doctor…hospital", he spoke slowly as if explaining something to a child.

"Cut the crap, House!"

"No, need to be rude. I was merely making a point. Some people…" He shook his head in mock indignation.

"You're simply incredible!" she let her arms slump to her sides in frustration.

"I know," he answered smugly.

"I didn't mean it as a compliment," she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but to no avail, "Why…why did you quit rehab when you had only two more weeks to go until you were done with the programme anyways?"

"Let me see. Oh yeah! Because they tried to make me go to rehab and I said no, no, no", he intoned part of a song he had heard on the radio this morning. It seemed to fit the mood perfectly and made his grin broaden in glee, if that was still possible.

"This isn't a fucking joke! This is your life!" He had never heard the word 'fuck' come over her lips before. He had expected that if it ever did it would be a quite whisper, followed by twenty Ave Marias. She was neither whispering nor praying now. She was outraged, nearly screaming. Her acerbic tone had even managed to scare away the nurse who had just rounded the corner behind her, which was quite impressive. An amused smile settled on his face.

"Have you ever been told that you're sexy when you're angry?" He said in a joking tone.

"Why do I even bother?" She shot him a dark glance. What he read in her eyes was more hurtful to him than any of her words could have been. Disappointment and anger. For a while they just stood there looking at each other. Then she shook her head and stormed off.

As soon as she left the examination room the professional, but fake smile slipped from her face. She took the patient's chart and wrote down her diagnosis. Neurodermatitis - cortisone should do the trick combined with the proper dosage of antihistamines. Cameron absent-mindedly handed the chart over to a nurse and muttered something about taking a break.

The utility closet seemed to be the right place for the phone call she was about to make, so she walked there quickly, shooting suspicious looks over her shoulder in case a certain limping doctor was going to follow her. Once inside the closet, a dang little room filled with all kinds of cleaning utensils that emitted a strong chemical scent, she whipped out her cell phone and pressed a number on speed dial. The fact that she had this number on speed dial was a clear indication of being utterly pathetic. She felt slightly ashamed of it, even without anyone else knowing.

"Three Oaks Rehabilitation Clinic. Nurse Roberts speaking. How can I help you?"

"Yeah, this is…" she cleared her throat, "Dr. Allison House speaking. I'd like to talk to Dr. Henderson, please."

She could see him as soon as she stepped outside of the hospital. He stood there casually drabbed against her car, his biker helmet under one arm, while the other rested on roof of her car. His stance radiated a mixture of arrogance and coolness, which in turn provoked a fresh wave of anger to rise in her. Anger and want. The latter only caused her to feel an unhealthy dose of self-loathing, all in all a dangerous combination.

By the time she had reached him, her face had become an expressionless mask and her eyes cold as ice. "What do you want?" she asked in passing, while she rummaged inside her pockets for the car keys.

"Oh, is that your car?!" he quite obviously faked surprise. "I was just sun-bathing. Isn't the Indian summer something beautiful?"

Cameron let out a dry laugh and unlocked the car door. So far she was unimpressed. She threw in her jacket followed by her bag, then got in. She tried to ignore him, even willed him to go away. He did not exist. She did not want to talk to him. He did not make any attempts to stop her. So far everything seemed to go well. She turned to keys in the ignition determined to make a quick escape, but apparently he had decided that was not going to happen. She felt a waft of cold air on her face and heard the passenger door fall shut. He had gotten in.

"What now?" she asked looking at him blankly. "If you need a ride, call a cab."

"No, thanks I'm fine. How about some cruising? It's what all the cool kids do."

"Get out", she said flatly.

"No", he answered simply.

She stared at him for a few seconds incredulously. As if to emphasize his point he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fine," she said in a resigned tone and turned around abruptly in her seat to park out. She yanked at the gear shift and the car set in motion. As the car was slowly exiting the parking lot, she was trying to make up her mind about their destination. More than anything in the world she wanted to go home. Wrap herself up in a blanket in front of the TV and have a nice glass of red wine, but the way things looked that was not going to be. She shot him an angry glare. She didn't have to let him inside her apartment if she didn't want to. He could call a cab from the street, she decided, smiling evilly to herself at her plan.

She drove the same way she was always taking. She knew every pump in the road, knew exactly when a crossroad would come and when to stop. She knew everything by heart down to the timing of the traffic lights. His presence, however, sitting on the passenger seat, unmoving and with a grim expression on his face, unnerved her a great deal. She started to worry that she was going get them killed by wrapping the car around a telephone mast, because her growing irritation made the way she drove more aggressive than usual. About five minutes later common sense managed to persuade her to pull over at the parking lot of a super market in the middle of nowhere.

"You want to talk. Fine, we'll talk", she hissed at him.

"Who said I wanted to talk?"

Her fingers drummed at the steering wheel. She didn't answer.

"Okay, little Miss Sunshine," he rolled his eyes over-dramatically, "I got the message."

"No, you never do," Cameron said darkly.

"See this is where you're wrong. I understand perfectly well. You're just angry, because you care so much. Isn't it so, Mommy?" he looked at her innocently with his big blue eyes. "But isn't it so that deep down you were glad I was gone. It must have been oh so comfortable! So downright convenient! You could go and cry at Wilson's shoulder, you could go play queen bee for a while…" Right there she wanted to hit him hard or smash his head against the dashboard or better yet both. As always, even though being royally pissed off, she tried to come up with reasons why he was behaving like this. While she held the part of her in check that wanted to strangle him right then and there, realization hit her. He wanted her to get angry so she would let the subject drop. Thanks to that epiphany her anger suddenly dissolved. "You're stalling techniques don't work anymore", she said calmly. He said nothing, just looked down. So she was right. She decided to cut right to the chase.

"Why did you leave?" she asked.

"I thought you've already discussed that with Dr. Moreau," he sighed.

She was not surprised he knew she had called her. "Frankly, I'm more interested in your side of the story."

There was the hint of a lopsided grin on his face. It looked rather pained though. Telling her the truth seemed inevitable. The wrinkles around his eyes were more prominent now and the grip around his ever-present cane got a little tighter. "They couldn't help me there."

"Why? House? Why?! Rehab kind of strikes me as a good idea when you've got a drug problem…"

"The pills are not the problem. They never were."

"Just an outward symptom then…," her voice was low, almost a whisper.

He looked at her in surprise. He had not expected her to know so much about him, though it was probably just a lucky guess. He did not answer for a while, indulging the thought that she probably wouldn't know what to make of his reaction, but deep down he knew it did not matter what he said or did. The dilemma was that somehow in those past couple of weeks she had learned to read him and that alarmingly well, too.

It took a while before she had summed up the courage to ask the next question. "Do you still…?" She started, but he cut her off.

"I don't jug those pills back like M&Ms anymore, if that's what you were trying to ask."

"It wasn't."

He sighed, massaging his temples tiredly. "Why do you always have to ask those fucking questions?"

"You've said it yourself, because I care about you," her tone was even, this time she was not scared telling him how she felt.

He let out a raucous laugh. He felt cornered and desperate.

"What do you want in life?" She asked out of the blue.

"What?! Are you going Plato 101 on my ass now?"

"Yes, maybe," came her answer quite and determinedly.

"This is stupid."

"No, it isn't." she said. She was always pushing him to say things he didn't want to.

"I want to win the lottery, marry Angelina Jolie and father lots of little Greg Juniors with her, satisfied?"

"No."

"Nah, you're just jealous," he said, waving his hand at her lightly.

"No." Her answers were getting more and more monotonous and uninspiring. "Just tell me."

"It's not that easy, you know. It's not what people normally do, sit down and think about the things they want in life. It's like Pandora's Box. Once you start trying to figure out what you want, it gets pretty obvious what you don't have. Let me tell you something: There'd be monsters, Missy. It's where divorce, depression and not to forget suicide lurk their ugly heads. All the nasty stuff, basically."

"Still no answer to my question."

"Oh, give me a break already!" He gesticulated with his hands in frustration. He looked outside the passenger window longingly. "Just so you know I'd get out of the car in the blink of an eye, if we weren't in the middle of nowhere."

"This is like pulling teeth," Cameron observed.

"I agree. So let's not prolong it, shall we?" he quipped back.

"No, we'll stay here until you'll have answered my question," she said and crossed her arms over her chest in determination.

He gave her an appraising look as if to make sure she really meant it. Resolve was written on her face, so she probably did.

House took a while to contemplate his options. He could tell her and get it over with or he could continue to be stubborn and wait till she grew tired of torturing him. Right, like that was ever going to happen!

"Alright," he said finally with a considerable amount of resignation in his voice, "What do I want in life?" he made a show out of pondering that question, frowning overdramatically and rubbing his chin. "Let's see. That's actually quite easy. How about not having to take pain medication to get through a day? Oh, and while we're at it, I'd like my leg to medically mend itself. That would be so cool."

"What else?" She ignored his sarcasm.

"What else?! Isn't that enough?"

"No."

He looked outside the window, which was starting to mist over, as if he was looking for the answer somewhere out there. "Something else. Just not this life," he said finally. Every word cost him quite an effort.

"There are people worse off than you." Something in the way she said it, something in the way she looked, perhaps even the knowledge of her husband who had died of cancer, kept him from making a sarcastic comment.

"There are," he acknowledged after careful contemplation.

"If you're unhappy with the way thinks are, why can't you do something about it?" It was an innocent enough question. Just not in that context, just not with him. They both were aware of that. The careful measured way she said those words implied as much as well as the way his posture stiffened ever so subtly.

"Because I can't," his voice dark, desperate and above all filled with frustration.

"Can't or won't?"

Silence. "I don't know," he finally said truthfully. "What I do know though, is that you're definitely trying to fix me again," he added after a while. His tone was much more self-assured now than a few moments ago.

"House, nobody can fix you. The only one who can is you," Cameron said softly.

"Well, I tried, it didn't work."

"You always try on your own." She looked at his face almost shyly. She was offering herself to him. "You don't have to."

"No, but it keeps everything nice and uncomplicated. You don't get to have pseudo therapy sessions in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere."

"You got in my car," she gave to think.

"Yes…, but it wasn't exactly a marriage proposal," he raised his eyebrows at her.

"You kissed me," she stuck out her chin. The look she gave him could best described as smug.

He rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't have. I got all those crazy little ideas in your head."

"What if I want you to do it again?" he noticed she had unfastened her seatbelt. She was slowly leaning over to him. Her hand tentatively placed itself on his knee. He gave it a sceptical look. One eyebrow rose.

"Are you trying to make a move on me?" he asked.

"Yes," she softly. "Is that okay?" The expression on her face was vulnerable and expectant. If he said 'no' now it would be like kicking a puppy. Not even he was capable of that. He never would have rejected her, anyway. As a matter of fact it was the last thing on his mind. He had enjoyed their kiss very much.

He pretended to give the question some thought, seizing her up with his eyes. He noticed that from that ankle he could peer down her v-necked sweater. The view wasn't bad: two wonderfully shaped, nice, round breasts cupped by a black lace bra. More interesting detail lay in darkness though. She caught his gaze. The shy look on her face disappeared and made room to a knowing smile.

"Does this mean yes?" Her voice sounded different, not like he was used to. It got under his skin and made it tingle. It was probably because she was so close.

Instead of an answer he reached out his hand to pull her closer. His finger brushed over the fabric of her blouse, then unexpectedly connected with skin. Her blouse had slid up a bit thanks to her turning towards him. She shivered. Their eyes met. Eternities passed. Then he kissed her.

tbc 


	6. WakeUp Call

It was late at night, and Foreman and Chase had already left. When Cameron passed by House's office with her arms full of medical reports, she could see him lying there in his office-chair, sound asleep and with his feet up on the desk. His head had lolled back and even though she couldn't hear it through the window, she suspected he was snoring, because his mouth was slightly open. She smiled and entered the conference room to deposit the charts on the table. Originally she had come because the papers needed signing and she had hoped against hope that he would still be around. That he was, infact made her feel strangely happy, even though it could have just been a coincidence. Maybe he had just fallen asleep Or maybe he had just fallen asleep waiting for her. There was a huge difference.

She carefully made her way over to his office, slowly pressed the door handle down and slipped inside. "House?" she said into the bluish twilight of the room. No answer. Despite of having kissed him twice, she still felt inhibited to use his first name. She crept closer to him and softly nudged his crossed leg, carefully avoiding touching the bad one. He made a smacking noise with his lips and shifted around, but didn't wake up. She bent over him, taking in his relaxed face and his tousled hair. It had to be the first time she actually considered applying the word 'cute' to his person. "House?" Cameron said in a louder voice, softly squeezing his shoulder to wake him.

He opened his eyes, searching the room and quickly talking in his surroundings, until his gaze finally settled on her. The ghost of a gentle smile was briefly visible on his lips, a slip in the daze between waking and sleeping. His voice sounded more gravelly than usual, thanks to lack of use. He ran his hand over his face tiredly, "What? Is it time for school already? Where's the black kid and the one with the funny accent? You know the British nancyboy."

"Gone home about two hours ago," she answered gently.

"And you let me sleep in my office?!" he sat up straight in his chair, frowning at her.

"I assumed you'd gone home as well," she shrugged her shoulders

"Well, I didn't. Great, now I've got an aching back because of you!"

She knew better than to say she was sorry, but she still wasn't sure what to make of his comment. The expression on her face could best be described as doubting. It was hard to tell whether he was being serious or just trying to find out how'd she react. Though he had made unmistakably clear that he liked her by his actions, not by his words, mind, she was still treading carefully around him. It was remotely possible that he had really been waiting up for her, but she wasn't as naïve as to lose herself in that fantasy.

He got out of his chair, stretching his stiff limbs. "Just so you know,you're giving me a ride home."

"Oh, really?!" She cocked her head at him and watched him, her eyes sparkling in the twilight. "Why are you not taking your motorbike?"

"Don't you know anything?! Because motorbikes and stiff backs don't mesh. That's why."

She let out a mock sigh, "Since you're asking so nicely…"

"Come to think of it, how about one for the road? You're paying," he casually shrugged on his jacket and put on his peaked cap.

"Now?!" Cameron asked incredulously.

"No, tomorrow morning. Of course, now. Don't be such a bore."

She took a deep breath, feeling slightly annoyed with him. What kept her from saying anything was the fact that this was his own twisted way of inviting her…no, of inviting himself to a drink. "Alright."

"Excellent," he stuck out his chin at her, smiling smugly from underneath the rim of his cap. "Can we go now?"

"Just a second," she said and hurried to get her things from the conference room.

"Women," he rolled his eyes, tapping his cane to further emphasize his annoyance.

"Two scotches," House told the bartender brusquely, not that this was the kind of place it mattered in. It was a typical sports bar - the place practically smelling of testosterone. Cold smoke hung in the air, peanut shells lay on the floor, the large TV above the bar showed a re-run of an old football game.

"I don't drink scotch," she told him.

"Okay, what do you drink then?" he asked with a surprising lack of sarcasm.

"I'd rather have a beer."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but ordered the requested beverage as soon as the bartender returned. He had had her down one of those Strawberry Daiquiri and Cosmo drinking girls who had watched Sex in the City one too many times. Her drinking beer made her appear more down to earth. He'd even go as far as to say that she had just scored a view extra points for that.

They took their drinks and went to settle in the nearest booth. Apart from the two guys who were sitting at the bar, drinking and talking about the game on the TV, they were alone. Thankfully the music was up, so they didn't have to attempt to make unnecessary conversation, which made the situation a little less awkward.

"Here, take a sip," he slid one of his two glasses in her direction. The ice cubes clanged against its side of the glass as he moved it.

"Thanks, I actually do know what it tastes like," she informed him curtly.

"Could have fooled me," he grinned at her and took a swing of the glass in front of him. She mirrored his move and brought the bottle of beer to her lips as well.

House grimaced, savouring the bitter taste of the liquor on his lips. "Ever got drunk?" he asked out of the blue.

"Why? Do you want to find out about my alcohol tolerance, to get me drunk and bed me later?" she answered coolly, taking another swing from the bottle.

Her comment caught him off-guard, but after the astonishment wore off he was clearly amused. A devilish smile spread on his face. "We both know I wouldn't even have to get you drunk. No-one can resist my charms."

"Umum," she snorted, "That's why you keep them so well hidden. They must be your secret weapon."

"Touché," he raised his glass at her and she clanged her bottle against it. Their banter had taken a more amiable turn in the last couple of day, another point that indicated the subtle shift in dynamics that had taken place. It was not talked about just accepted as the current status quo.

"So?" he asked again refusing to let go his question before, "Did little Cameron ever get completely sloshed?"

"I don't think so. No."

"Boohooring," he said, stifling a fake yawn.

"Just because I was a responsible young…" she began, trying to vindicate her point of view.

"Oh, Cameron, don't offend me!" he cut her off. "That's just some crap you picked up somewhere. The point is that you're just afraid to cut loose."

"Well, alright, but I'm not the only one," she looked at him pointedly. The double meaning in her words didn't escape his notice.

He fell silent for awhile, looking at her darkly. After taking another sip off his scotch he finally said, "You first."

"I'm not going to get drunk just to impress you!"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures…For the sake of fairness I'm not going to let you get drunk on your own."

"Do you think that's a good idea? What if we do something we'll regret later?" she asked, cautiously paraphrasing the word sex.

"Something we'll regret...," he snorted mirthlessly, "It's when we are drunk that we act the most like ourselves. No-one's able to pretend from a certain BAL on, if you know what I mean."

"Alright," she said hesitantly, still uncertain whether this was a good idea. "But how will we get home?"

"Cab?" he said, getting to his feet.

"Wait. What are you doing?" she asked in astonishment.

"Getting another round. Isn't that obvious?"

After her third bottle of beer she felt bold. Bold and a little tipsy. "Do you mind if I call you Greg?"

"Nope, knock yourself out." Four empty glasses stood in front of him. His finger constantly toyed with the one closest to him. Apart from his pronunciation being a little less accurate, there was no indication of him being drunk. "Allison," he tried her first name out. "Nah, just doesn't feel right."

"Nor does calling you Greg" she sighed. "And just think it only took me three bottles of beer to sum up to courage to ask. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Afraid I was going to bite you?" he joked.

"I actually like biting,"she said, causing him to give her a wide-eyed look. She clapped her hands over her mouth, looking at him with big eyes, "Wow! I just said that out loud, didn't I? Embarrassing!"

"No, hot," he said truthfully. He still looked a little perplexed - perplexed, but fascinated. With less alcohol in his system he would have lied or made a sarcastic comment - or possibly both.

She swatted him lightly on the arm, laughing, "Men think everything's hot."

"A feminist at heart, huh?! If you decide to burn your bra, let me know. I'm not opposed to watching you take it off. Hell, I might even provide a lighter," he threw her a dirty grin.

"I bet you would," she laughed.

"So anything else I should know of? Do you have a whip and chains stored away in your closet?"

"No, do you?" Cameron grinned at him broadly and again catching him off guard. She wasn't entirely as predictable as he had thought she was. Apparently there was some truth to the saying 'quiet waters run deep'. He suspected she was a little bit like those naughty Catholic school girls - innocent on the outside, a dirty mind on the inside.

"What do you think?" he waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. She giggled. "Just in case Cuddy wants to double clinic hours…That'll be the day she mysteriously disappears," he let out a creepy laugh.

"Since I'm usually the one doing your clinic hours, I'll cover you," she winked at him conspiratorially. She was actually having a good time - something she had not believed to be possible when he was involved.

"This is fun," Cameron said cautiously.

"Yes, it is," he admitted. The timid smile on her face developed into a full-fledged genuine one.

"You're really a bit drunk, aren't you?" she giggled.

"Why?" he looked at her with squinted eyes, trying to make his vision less blurry. He was out of practise. Strangely enough they didn't allow any alcohol in rehab.

"Because normally you'd never admit to something like that."

"What? That I'm drunk or that I'm having a good time?" he asked.

"Both," she smiled at him. Their eyes locked. For a moment neither of them said something. She busied herself with taking another sip of her drink. He followed her example.

"You know what…?" she said after a while. The smile was still on her face. "I feel like I'm sixteen again. I want to do something completely stupid and unreasonable."

"Like sleeping with your boss?" he suggested enthusiastically.

She laughed hysterical at his proposal, nevertheless blushing profusely. "No," she swatted his arm. "I'd want to be able to remember that. Since half of what I'm saying now will probably be…whoosh," she made a gesture with her hand, "…gone by tomorrow, that's probably not a good idea," she looked him deeply in the eye with the kind of dead seriousness only someone drunk could muster.

"Pity," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll try again later. You know if at first you don't succeed…"

"The second time won't be the charm either. I never had drunken sex. I doubt it's any fun," she wrinkled her nose sceptically.

"For you? Probably not. You'd be eaten up by remorse afterwards."

"Oh, you think so?! Maybe I won't be," she crossed her arms over her chest, shooting him a sulking look rather befitting of a ten year old than of a grown woman.

"I know you," he said simply.

She uncrossed her arms, throwing him a saccharine smile, "See, that's you're mistaken. You think you know me."

"Okay," he stretched out the vowels of this small word and raised his eyebrows. "So you're a born rebel. Impress me!" House looked at her challengingly.

"What do you want me to do? Set this bar on fire?"

"Would you?"

"No! Of course not! Are you out of your mind?"

"No, just drunk as you so cleverly pointed out before." He let a few seconds pass for effect. "So with what were you going to knock me off my socks then if not with your alleged pyromania?"

"A prank," she said after glaring at him for a suitable amount of time.

"A prank," he repeated slowly, weighing the pros and cons of her proposal in his mind. He finally came to a solution. "I'll get us another round."

She woke up with a start, unable to tell where she was and how she had ended up there, wherever that there might have been. Headache! She massaged her temples with clumsy fingers. Her back brushed against something warm and soft. She was too distracted by her mind-numbing headache to wonder what that unknown source of warmth was. She slowly came to, feeling the light weight of the thin covers on her. Her mouth was dry. There was a stale taste and a sudden thirst that was almost insupportable.

Another wave of skull splitting migraine hit her, followed by blurry shreds of memories from last night. She had laughed a lot, even giggled, what she rarely did when sober. The Princeton Plainsboro. House. None of them could walk straight anymore so they had supported each other. They had landed on the floor, laughed, then no more laughter. Kisses…His hands on her skin, what followed after faded into black. The next thing she remembered - a cab. The streetlights outside were gleaming strings of golden light. The only thing she could focus on was his face.

She hesitantly opened one eye afraid of what she might see. Her surroundings were unfamiliar. Not the Princeton Plainsboro, not her apartment. Somewhere else. She was lying in a bed that was not her own. It felt different. It smelled different. Soft sheets caressed her naked legs…Her mind skidded to an abrupt halt. She slightly raised the covers to have a look at herself. She was only dressed in a loosely fitting white t-shirt and her black slip. There was another pair of feet stretched out beside hers. Big feet, quite obviously male. Oh, God! Please, no! As if on cue, her migraine increased in intensity.

She could pretend to be asleep and postpone the inevitable for a little while, but it seemed to be too late for that. The man beside her was already stirring. It was either fight or flight. She decided for the latter one. The situation was simply too much to handle for her at the moment. Dealing with a half-naked, potentially even completely naked man seemed out of question. She quickly and quietly slipped out of bed, her eyes fixed on the ground to keep her from seeing what she did not want to see. She escaped from the room and opened the next best door she could find to lock herself behind it.

Clean, egg-shell coloured, cold tiles. A bathroom. Her fingers wrapped around the rim of the sink for support. She looked at herself in the mirror. The skin around her chin was slightly reddened as if something rough had rubbed up against it. Like sandpaper or the stubble of a beard. She touched her lips cautiously and froze in that pose, when she caught sight of an orange coloured, transparent prescription bottle. The label read 'Vicodin', beneath that the name 'Gregory House m.d.' She shut her eyes tightly. This couldn't be happening! Why did this have to happen to her of all people?

House opened his eyes, blinking. He grimaced at the bright light. Throwing the bedside clock an accusing look, he read it. 8 a.m. It was also too early. Why did she have to have her moral crisis at this ungodly hour? He had been awake long enough to hear her escape from the room. It wasn't like she had been particularly discrete about it. She had scrambled out of bed, struggling momentarily with the covers, then, as soon as she had successfully untangled herself, she had practically run from the room. Not very flattering, but that wasn't anywhere near to being a threat to his huge ego.

She was probably thinking they had had sex. It was possible, but he couldn't say for sure. The pros: he was only clothed in some boxer briefs, apart from that he wore nothing. He slowly sat up in bed. Aha, a black bra on the floor! Hers! He stored that new piece of information away on the pro side.

On to the cons, if there were any after all. He couldn't seem to remember the actual thing, just some serious making out and a bit of groping. A real pity though. He would have loved to know how his pretty immunologist was in the sack, let alone how she looked with her clothes off.

No, this was not him. His expression softened, as he brushed his cynic inner voice aside. It really was a pity he couldn't remember any of it. When he was up late at night, sitting in the loneliness of his room and sipping on a glass of scotch, he had often tried to envision her like that. He had marvelled upon the question of how her soft skin would feel beneath his touch and got lost in this fantasy, where he was allowed to kiss her, caress her, taste her, knowing that he would soon awake to a reality where he was alone again. Alone because he had wanted it this way.

He slowly sat up and swung his legs out of bed, letting them dangle over the edge for a second, before slowly getting up. It was in the mornings that his leg caused the most trouble. Then it was always stiff from lack of use and protested against every move he made. He looked around frantically, but the little orange bottle that promised at least minimal release from the excruciating pain he was in was nowhere to be found. Maybe in the bathroom? Where else would it be? The only problem was the hysterical woman who had currently locked herself up there, therefore keeping him from getting to his medication.

House grabbed his cane and hobbled over to the bathroom door. In front of it he briefly paused, listening for any noise from inside. Nothing. He tabbed against the door with his cane. The sound was almost brutal, as it abruptly disrupted the early morning quietness of his apartment. No answer. He rolled his eyes and knocked louder.

Cameron looked at the door with a frown. The knocking became louder and more aggressive any second. "What do you want?" she asked in a slightly croaky voice.

"Guess," he said .

"Your pills?"

"Bingo! Right the first time. What a clever girl you are!" came his sarcastic answer that was fuelled by the by now excruciating pain in his leg.

The door opened and a slender white hand that held his prescription bottle appeared. "This is childish," he commented disdainfully, but taking the pills from her nonetheless.

"You're right," she said regretfully, slowly opening the door. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, well aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. The pills rattled in their little container as he shook two of them onto his outstretched palm and immediately dry swallowed them. She watched the whole procedure standing awkwardly in the doorframe.

He wore nothing except for some blue boxer shorts, and she couldn't help but stare. The scars on his leg were something she didn't pay that much attention to. They were there, but reduced to a mere footnote. She was busy with absorbing every detail of him, and compared what she saw to the fantasy she had built of him. The one she indulged in lying alone in her bed or daydreaming whenever her mind drifted off. He caught her gaze, and she blushed and started tugging at the hem of her t-shirt.

"I hate to rub it in your face…Wait, who am I kidding? Actually, I love to…I just have to say it. I told you so," he said, turning his back on her as he hobbled away in the direction of the bedroom.

She followed him. "Told me what?"

"That you'd be eaten up by remorse afterwards," he said collecting his t-shirt from the floor.

"After what?" Was she actually that dense or didn't she remember either? He scrutinized her face for the missing clue. She looked tense, preoccupied and even a bit panicked. The scale tipped to one side.

"After the sex, of course," House said without so much as flinching. Testing people was his way of interacting with them. Hell, the way he saw it, he was actually being nice. This time he wasn't even lying. He just didn't know whether they really had had sex or not.

"I'm on the pill," she said almost automatically. Her first response was an unemotional one and purely pragmatic. She knew that he was uncomfortable with the situation and would sooner or later lash out at her. So strictly speaking, this was only a pre-emptive strike.

On one hand, he was impressed with her and also somewhat thankful for the information. On the other he was disappointed that she could so easily dismiss something major as them sleeping together like this.

He took revenge immediately. "That's a relief."

Cameron gave him a funny look. "Do you…" she started, but changed her mind halfway through. "I'm going to leave," she announced darkly, reaching down to collect her things that were scattered all over the bedroom floor, making sure her shirt didn't slide up.

"If that's what you want…"

She stopped in mid-movement. The piece of clothing she was about to pick up slipped from her fingers. She whipped around her actions suddenly fuelled by an anger she had not known before. "What I want?! Are you seriously asking me what I want?!"

"Well, actually no.." he raised his finger, ready to continue that line of thought, but she did not let him.

"Tough luck! I'm going to tell you anyway. What I want is for you to finally get yourself together. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Life is hard. Everyone's a little miserable now and then, but most people decide that they don't want to be for the rest of their lives. This here," she gesticulated with her hand between the two of them, "This is a chance. A chance you have right now. You can either take it or leave it."

He looked at her with a frown. Was she going crazy?

The expression on his face only encouraged her to keep talking. "It doesn't matter anymore at this point, does it? It can't possibly get more embarrassing than this so I might as well say it." She took a deep breath and looked him right in the eye. The words died in her throat, instead of what she had initially intended to say, she said something else. "I…really like you. I have liked you for a long time, but I'm sick of this constant back and forth – of you not being able to make up your mind. Do what you want, but I won't wait around forever."

She threw him one last lingering look, before she collected the rest of her clothes and stormed out of the bedroom.

tbc(obviously) 


	7. Watch Out The Apocalypse Is Coming!

**AN: **_Thank you all so much for reading! And btw thanks for those lovely reviews, too_ :D _Reading them always puts a smile on my face even if my day's been sucky. So without further ado..._

It had been a week - a whole week since the conversation in his bedroom and she'd begun to doubt it had ever happened. As a matter of fact, she'd begun to doubt anything had ever happened between them. It was as if they had travelled back into another area - a time before his rehab - a time before they had ever gotten close to each other. His walls were back up and it seemed there was nothing that could breach them.

The day after their talk, he had breezed into the conference room with his usual bravado, making sarcastic comments, scribbling diagnostic terms on the white board zealously. Others would have mistaken his act for normalcy, but she didn't. He'd refused to make eye contact with her even when she stood right in front of him. Other times however, he focused his undivided attention on her and all the nasty verbal barbs that he usually distributed equally between his employees were all of a sudden solely directed at her. She put on a brave face and ignored them the best she could, though she was not entirely unfazed by them. In fact, his words had continued to echo in her ears and made her feel self-conscious for the rest of the day. With great effort, she had tried to push them away and to her own astonishment, she succeeded to a certain degree. All that remained was a dull feeling of numbness that accompanied her constantly. She functioned like a machine, running completely on autopilot. Her feet carried her through the clinic, her eyes staring ahead. She had no more friendly gazes and smiles left to spare - the expression on her face was blank.

She passed the water cooler, the soles of her sensible flat slippers sounding as if someone was stepping on a wet sponge. The carpet was soaking. Her gait faltered for a second as she looked around in wonder. One of her colleagues from dermatology was standing there screaming abominations at the water cooler, while it was slowly but steadily leaking water onto the floor, tiny rivulets dribbling down on the carpet. She watched them with fascination for a few moments, before her memory caught up with her. Last night. The prank. She gulped heavily, allowing herself one last look at their handiwork, before she stormed off.

She wouldn't let anyone know how much she suffered under that situation. She didn't cry when she changed in the locker room, she did not cry when she sat in her car driving home, but as soon as she entered her apartment and the door fell shut behind her she started sobbing uncontrollably.

By now Cameron knew they had not had sex. Her memory hadn't returned to her, but she was a doctor. It was easy, albeit degrading, to get a scientific answer to the question she was holding. She had felt relieved, but also somewhat disappointed, when she read the results of the test. The swab clearly proved that no sexual intercourse had taken place. Somehow, Cameron hadn't feel any better knowing that. The mixture of desperation and hurt that seemed to choke her every minute of the day wasn't gone afterwards like she had hoped.

The days passed painstakingly. As much as she tried to tell herself that she wasn't expecting anything from him, she could not help but look at him hopefully every time he entered the room. Her anger built up proportionately to the time that passed, though she had admittedly reached a low point when she stormed into his deserted office one day to throw the test results on his desk, leaving them there for him to see when he returned. It was her way of reminding him of what had, or rather, had not passed between them. It was her way of letting him know that he was hurting her. But again she could draw no pleasure from this. The only thing she felt was this growing void that was pushing her feeling for him out of her system.

She was barely hanging on. Barely. She couldn't count the times she had drafted her letter of resignation. The first lines quickly appeared, seething with bitterness, then as quickly as she had hammered them into the keyboard of her computer, she erased them again. The white screen reflected back on her face, mocking her. It was a tired and sad face. The letter grew longer and longer each day. After the introduction, a main part, after the main part some curt unfelt words of goodbye. Erased again, written again, the next day printed. It was her breaking point. She'd rather put an end to this than suffer any longer.

Ironically the next day started like any other. She was the first of the team to arrive at the office. Instead of running through her usual routine, she walked straight into Houses office. He wasn't there. That was to be expected. It was still too early for that. She pulled the white envelope out of her bag and weighed it in her hand for a moment. It felt heavier than a letter should. She carefully, almost reverentially laid it down on the desk. The crisp white envelop set off almost obtrusively against the dark surface of the table. Cameron let out a sigh and sat down in the chair in front of the desk. Now all she had to do was wait a little longer.

If Foreman and Chase had already arrived she had not heard them. She had not cared to spare the glass front to her left even a single look. She was carelessly skimming through Houses mail. Her eyes skipped over letters that were supposed to be words that somehow formed sentences, but she did not make the effort of concentrating. Reading his mail was just a distraction anyway.

She did not raise her head when she heard him approach. His gait was familiar to her. It was like a theme song to every entrance he made. Despite of being well aware of his presence she didn't acknowledge it in any way, not even, when he greeted her with the harsh words, "What are you doing here?"

He stopped as he saw the white envelope lying on his desk. He knew all too well what it meant, but for now he chose to feign ignorance. Mainly to buy some time, he turned around, slowly limped over to the glass window and shut the blinds.

"I take it you came to have the long overdue talk," he took a seat in his office chair, assuming a pose that would have made Doctor No envious.

"Actually, no, I came for something else," she pointedly looked at the envelope that was still resting on the desktop in front of him, untouched.

"I won't open it," he declared and pushed it away disdainfully.

"Why? It's what you wanted, isn't it? The way you behaved this week it was quite obvious you wished I was gone, so I'm only doing you and me a favour," she said coolly. She looked at him, her chin raised stubbornly. He could read her well enough to know it was all an act and that underneath, she was probably an emotional wreck. Knowing that he was responsible for that made him only more miserable. He wanted to say a lot of things, but he wasn't the type to console her or make pretty chick flicky talk. It just wasn't him. He was set in his ways and as much as he would have wanted to, it seemed impossible to do something about it.

"A favour?" he looked at her in mock horror. "Think of all the job interviews I'll have to go through. The boring long hours I'll have to listen to those nerdy immunologists jabbing on and on about their non-existent merits. A favour, you say?! More like torture."

"So that's all you're worrying about - having to go through a couple of job interviews?" she looked at him incredulously.

"Don't mock my pain," he looked at her with a scowl on his face. She took in a sharp breath, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but he continued talking before she could. "If you wanted another date, all you had to do was ask."

"No more dates, House," she looked exhausted, even sounded it. "I've had enough. I'm leaving and this time it's for good. There are no second chances. There are none left for us."

"You can't quit without a reason," he pointed out.

"I know perfectly well why I'm going," she sighed and slowly got up. This conversation was pointless "In case you want to read it in black and white, everything's there in the letter." It took all her willpower to turn around and walk towards the door. Her feet felt heavy, her skin prickled - she didn't want to leave. Secretly she still harboured the tiniest of hope that he would hold her back. As she walked, she heard the blood rushing in her ears. She reached out her hand to open the door. Her jittery fingers hovered over the brass knob hesitantly.

"Cameron," she heard him say her name. She let her hand fall down. The tone of his voice sounded foreign, vulnerable, nearly pleading. She froze in track and turned around to stare at him in wonder. He had gotten out of his chair. There was a frown on his face. He looked like he was about to say something.

She did not dare to hope yet, having been burned so many times. "What?" she asked after a while. The silence inside the room was unbearable. She saw him struggle to find the right words. He was fighting with his inner demons, with whatever the hell it was that kept him from talking. She watched him silently, rooted to her spot beside the door.

"Cameron," he started again, then looked down, almost ashamedly, "I don't want you to go."

She looked at him in wide-eyed wonder. Had he actually said that out loud? She knew it was hard for him to talk about the things he wanted, especially since he spent a considerable amount of time suppressing his feelings. Saying those words almost equalled a declaration of love and they both knew it. He met her eyes looking at her with a mixture of fearfulness and challenge. He could not deal with having made himself vulnerable and much less with her not answering immediately.

"I don't want to have to leave," she said slowly, taking a step away from the door towards him. Her decision was made. He didn't need to grovel to get her back. What he had given her was already more than she had expected –honesty.

He rounded his desk and stopped before it, leaning lightly against its edge.

"Then don't," he said.

"It's been up to you the whole time," she threw him a sad little smile.

For some reason he couldn't hold her gaze. "I know," his voice sounded more gravelly than usual.

"Then why?"

"Because that's who I am," he explained bitterly.

"Is it?"

"Maybe… I don't know," he looked tired. He looked broken. She wanted to hug him, lean into him, give comfort and receive it. The wish came deep from within her and was so much stronger than reason.

"I want to be with you," she admitted finally.

House looked shocked, alarmed even. "Do you?" He sighed and rubbed his chin. "It might be hard to believe, but there's actually a reason why Carmen Electra and Jessica Alba aren't mud wrestling over me. Nobody wants to be with a self-absorbed, damaged bastard who treats everyone around him like crap."

"That's not how I see you."

He gulped. "Frankly, I don't understand what you see in me."

"Believe me, sometimes I don't either," she smiled softly. The corners of his mouth briefly twitched. She walked towards him and stopped a few inches from him.

He looked down at her, the expression in his eyes soft for once, instead of taxing or inquisitive as usual. "You're not going to leave anymore, aren't you?"

"Not unless you give me a reason to."

He took a deep breath. The cavity of his chest rose and fell. "I'm not going to make any promises." His hands travelled down her arms; they barely brushed over the thin fabric of her blouse, but still she was very much aware of their touch, especially when his finger entwined with hers. He leaned down and softly kissed her cheek, his stubble rubbing up against her skin. This tender, yet somewhat rough token of affection was so entirely him, it almost made her cry. She snuck her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She expected him to protest, but he never did. Instead he held on to her, his hands running over her back in calming reassuring circles.

"So, are you up for a little makeup sex?" he whispered into her ear after a while, his low voice sending shivers down her spine. Trust him to make an inappropriate comment in a moment like that, she thought.

Despite of everything that had happened, his voice managed to strike a chord in her. It stirred a feeling, she suppressed very diligently, because it was devouring, irrational and unhealthy. It burned. Made her crave him, every ounce of him. Cameron bit her lower lip and looked at him from underneath her eyelashes ere she answered. "Perhaps. But not here."

"Perhaps?" he grinned at her wolfishly. "This just gets better and better. My, my, Dr. Cameron, you're much kinkier than I thought. I expected you get all huffy and slap me in the face for even suggesting something like that…"

"Then why did you ask it anyway?"

"The perks outweighed the risks. You could have said yes," he shrugged, "Plus, your moral indignation's kind of cute."

"It's not supposed to be," she frowned.

"Let's not lose track of the sight of the more important things… The blinds are drawn and there's comparatively little danger that the two dim-wits next door are going to walk in on us. So what do you think? The desk or the chair?"

Her eyes sparkled. She hesitated for a moment before she answered, probably because she was somewhat intrigued by the scenario he had just described. "Get your mind out of the gutter. There is actually a good chance Foreman and Chase are already wracking their brains about what we're doing in here. Five more minutes and they're going to knock." Her voice was somewhat breathy, therefore failing entirely to sound admonishing.

"Exciting," he threw her crooked little smirk. "What more could I possibly ask for than a quickie with the potential to emotionally cripple my subordinates?" His fingers had snuck under the hem of her pullover, caressing her skin with featherlike touches that made her shiver.

She pressed a light kiss to his lips, finding herself unable to stop at just one. He responded eagerly. "It won't be enough," she breathed in between kisses that seemed to increase in intensity with each passing second.

"What? You think I should get Cuddy and Wilson in here, too?" He grinned against her mouth, knowing perfectly well what she meant.

She broke apart from him, only to smack him on the arm playfully. "No, I…," she stuttered still feeling slightly hazy from the kisses they had just shared, "I…meant something else."

"What did you mean?" he started nibbling at her earlobe. Her breath caught in her throat, causing her to momentarily forget what she had been trying to say. "That's unfair," she finally managed to get out.

"Is it?" his low voice in her ear sent shivers down her spine.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to stop?"

A sharp intake of breath as his teeth grazed her skin. "God no!"

"Thought so."

A knock at the door brusquely interrupted them. They froze, then quickly broke apart. House strategically draped himself on the edge of his desk. "Sit," he hissed at Cameron and motioned with his eyes at the chair in front of his desk. She did as she was told, self-consciously running her hands through her hair and straightening her clothes.

"I hope this is important," he called out in the direction of the door. Chase popped his head in a few seconds later.  
"It is," he said, looking around curiously and spotting Cameron sitting in front of House's desk with her back to him. She did not turn to greet him. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "We've got a new patient." He had originally wanted to elaborate about their new case, but the situation was too odd to let it pass by uncommented. "Is there anything going on?"

House casually sauntered around his desk and sat down behind it. "Actually, yes there's something going on. We were just making out. If you had come in just a minute later, you would have caught me with my pants around my ankles. Gosh, that would have been so embarrassing!" He clasped the sides of his face in mock horror.

Cameron stiffened visibly in her chair, but Chase was oblivious to her discomfort. "Right!" he rolled his eyes. "Remind me to keep an eye out for the other signs of apocalypse as well! Now if you don't mind we've got work to do." With that he closed the door.

"You've heard, Skippy. You had better be going," House said with a noticeably disappointed sigh.

"You're probably right." She abruptly rose from her seat, walked over to the window pane and checked her reflection. She combed with her fingers through her hair and tugged at her clothes, frantic not to give her colleagues anymore reason for suspicion.

"You look fine," he said reassuringly, not leaving his place behind the desk.

Only now she registered that he wasn't making any notions of leaving his office, "Why aren't you coming?"

"Anatomical reason," he explained calmly.

It took a moment for her to realize, then she smiled knowingly. "I see."

He mirrored her smile, with the exception that his was slightly more pained.

"So, I suppose they are already expecting me…," she was somewhat reluctant to leave.

"Yeah, they had to pick precisely this moment to go and start using there brains. Go figure!" he said somewhat disgruntled.

She walked towards the door, but briefly stopped before she opened it. A crazy idea started forming inside her head and she blurted it out before she had the chance to rethink it. "Do you want to come over tonight?"

"What for?" he asked momentarily thunder struck by her words.

"For something more than a quickie," she grinned at him smugly.

He stared at her momentarily with his mouth agape, then hurried to answer, "Um…yes, sure. Sounds good."

Wilson entered his office. He held a warm cellophane cup in his hand which emitted the delicious scent of coffee. It had been a long and exhausting morning, so he had decided that he deserved something other than the hot beverage that the Princeton Plainsboro liked to sell as coffee. The poor rip-off that you could get in the cafeteria or that dribbled out of the vending machines was nothing compared to this. He smelled at the cup and smiled, as the aroma of Arabica softly wafted into his nostrils.

As soon as he entered his office, though, he noticed that something was off. The door was ajar and his office chair was turned around. Someone had snuck in, in his absence and had quite obviously been sloppy about it on purpose. "House?!" he asked the backside of his chair accusingly.

House spun the chair around with a scowl on his face. "You spoiled my big entrance."

"Get out," Wilson told him calmly.

"Jimmy, after all those years don't you at least want to listen to what I have to say?" House looked at him with big puppy dog eyes. There was also a considerable amount of mockery in his words, clearly signalled by the use of his first name. It didn't escape Wilson.

"You forged your prescriptions and you used my name for it, so no. I'm not exactly in the mood," he put the cup of coffee down on the table, then opened the door and pointedly motioned House to leave.

"Do you expect me to apologize?" his former best friend asked incredulously.

Wilson looked at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. "No, I don't expect you to apologize. I'm afraid the day you'd manage to do that would announce the coming of the apocalypse. Besides what's the point of it? I'm not angry anymore." He ran his hand over his face, suddenly feeling more tired than he had all day. He had the sneaking suspicion that this time even a cup of delicious coffee wasn't going to be able to fix that.

"Brilliant! Does that mean we can skip right to the part were you roll your eyes at me and give me all kinds of advices on how to lead my life?" House looked at him interestedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sorry, I think I sold my crystal ball and tarot cards about a month ago. You'd have to start annoying someone else whose trust you didn't abuse just to get high."

"Didn't you just say you weren't angry anymore? To be honest you sounded a tad bit pissed off just there…" House reasoned calmly.

Wilson literally exploded with anger at his words. "Pissed off?! Oh, that precious! You think I'm pissed off? It doesn't even begin to describe it! I mean, how could you!?" He started pacing in front of his desk. "You snuck into my office and stole my prescription pad and even forged my signature…what on earth were you thinking? Were you thinking at all? I guess that's a big no there! You were probably too high for that! You didn't even make the effort of trying to talk to me. Maybe…maybe I could have helped you! For God sake's we were friends! Or at least I thought we were. Guess you just didn't care enough, did you? Is there anything you care about at all?!" By the time he had finished with his little tirade he was slightly out of breath. He had worked up a lot of steam, because he had been holding those things inside for the month if not longer.

"Feeling better now?" House asked calmly.

Wilson tugged at his tie, looking around pensively. "I guess I do."

"Fine, that was exactly the point of all this."

"You think things will magically fix themselves just because I got to yell at you?"

"No, next I was going to offer to buy you lunch. So what do you say?" House looked at him taxingly from his position in the office chair.

A long pause ensued. "Okay," Wilson said hesitantly after a while, "but that doesn't mean things are alright between us."

"Wait a minute let me sum this up. Not only did she not resign, she openly invited you over to her place to have sex with you?!" Wilson asked incredulously. The macaroni and cheese on his plate were forgotten and precariously nearing a lukewarm state. "Why does all the good stuff keep happening to you?"

"Like what? Leg infarctions and rehab?" House asked dryly, picking with his fork at his friend's plate. The way he saw it, it was his after all, because he had bought it. Or to be more precise, actually Cuddy had bought their lunch. Last week, in the aftermath of the pranks, he and Cameron had so nicely prepared, he had somehow managed to get his hands on Cuddy's staff card. Coincidently he was just in the right place at the right time. The dean of medicine had just prepared for another all-nighter, but when she switched on her desk light she was in for a surprise. The vitamin B pill, someone had strapped to the bulb in an onslaught of malicious brilliance, had started to melt, emitting a god-awful stench. That was about the time Cuddy had run out of her office, coughing and cursing. In her hurry she had unfortunately lost her staff card. He couldn't have left it there, lying in the corridor, ready for the taking of every Dick, Tom and Harry, now could he? He padded his jacket pocket, in which he kept his precious hidden, with a satisfied grin.

Wilson drew the cafeteria tray closer, shrouding it protectively with his arm in a desperate attempt of saving his food from his greedy friend. "No, seriously…You behave like a jerk and you get a hot girlfriend?! And I'm still single?! Maybe I've been going about it all wrong. Maybe I should start storing up some bad karma, because quite obviously that's what women want."

House forewent to tell him that he hadn't behaved like a jerk all the time. "Or maybe you should stop dragging every girl you meet in front of the altar." He found a weak spot in Wilson's defence and managed to get away with a forkful of macaroni.

"So any advice? What should I get her as a hostess gift? A bottle of bubbly? Or maybe a box of condoms?"

"I suppose more distasteful words have never been spoken," Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You think? I was just being thoughtful."

"Right. You'll probably end up sitting around in embarrassed silence anyway. You're blowing this way out of proportion. My guess? You'll have nothing to show for tomorrow. Nothing at all," he poked at the food on his plate with a satisfied grin.

"Would you please stop that?" Foreman asked, giving Cameron an unnerved look. They were sitting in the conference room; both of them bend over books, doing their research.

"Stop doing what?" she asked, looking at him perplexed.

He motioned at the pencil she held in her hand. "Oh," she said in realisation. She had probably been tapping it on the table while she was reading- a bad habit she had acquired during college.

She had rather unsuccessfully managed to push her date with House to the back of her mind, in order to be able to concentrate on what she was doing. The nervousness, however, wouldn't leave her - it was there constantly. Reading wasn't a very good idea in her constant state of mind, because she only skimmed briefly over the words and by the time she had finished the sentence she had already forgotten how it had started. When she was talking to other people, she was distraught and missed out on the most important parts of conversation. Like now, for example.

Damn! Foreman had said something. He looked at her expectantly. "I'm sorry. You were saying?" She threw him an apologetic smile.

"See, that's exactly it. Ever since House came back you've been acting weird. Is there something going on I should know of?" he said, looking at her inquisitively.

Cameron pretended to contemplate his question for a second, mainly to win some time. She couldn't possibly tell him that she had arranged to have sex with their boss tonight. A definite no on that. He would only disapprove anyway. Not to speak of the snide comments she would have to endure from that moment on.

"No, everything's just as usual. House is a jerk and we're his humble servants, existing only to humour him," she threw him an innocent, sweet little smile, hoping it would convince him, to leave her alone.

"Right," said Foreman slowly and returned to his books, shaking his head at her strange behaviour.


	8. All Talk And No Substance

She closed the door to her apartment and leaned against it. Her heart was thumbing away loudly inside her chest, she felt light-headed, perhaps even a bit dizzy. Alarm bells shrilled inside her head. According to the textbook, those were the symptoms of a MI. If she were about 20 years older, it might even have been probable. Perhaps it was just a minor one. Pressing her fingers to the sight of her throat, she tried to take her own pulse. Then, shaking her head as she realised the craziness of her behaviour, she let her hand fall again.

House was coming over for their "date" in about two hours. _Let's not mince around matter, shall we?_ she thought to herself disdainfully. _It had been rather something along the lines of an open invitation to sex_. The moment when she had blurted out her offer to him replayed in her mind over and over again. Maybe it had been the rush of doing something positively forbidden, like … making out with your boss in his office and not getting caught in the act that had brought about that sudden onslaught of sluttiness. Now she felt embarrassed and mind-bogglingly nervous just thinking about tonight.

There was no time to whip up dinner and pretend their meeting was something as innocent as just having a meal together. Besides, the last time they had had a date where food and candlelight were involved, things didn't go well for them, so she mentally crossed that idea off her list. What was she to do now? She still had about two hours to roam through the contents of her closet on a frantic search for something to wear and put on some make-up. If she was lucky enough she would even have a few extra minutes to spare in which she could spend worrying and berating herself.

He ambled down the corridor that let to her flat at precisely 8 p.m. He was never punctual for anything, not for work, not when he met with Wilson, not even when he had an appointment in court, but tonight he was. Maybe it was what awaited him behind this door at the end of the corridor that had urged him to arrive on time for once. He stopped in front of the door fussing around nervously with his cane and the red marguerite he had just plugged from the flower bed in front of her condo.

House paused for a moment before he knocked at her door, trying to collect his thoughts. He feared that if he didn't, the evening might turn out a complete disaster. Whenever he was nervous and didn't know what to say, things tended to go awry. After having mentally prepared for what was awaiting him behind that door - a gorgeous young woman willing to have sex with him - he finally knocked. Seconds later he heard the jingle of the keys turning inside the lock. The door opened.

"Hi," she said softly and he couldn't help but stare at her wordlessly. No matter what she was wearing, she was an attractive woman - she never passed under the radar unobserved. However, at work the clothes she wore served the purpose of hiding her youth and making her appear more professional. Now she was dressed in a dark green satin top, somewhat reminiscent of lingerie and a pair of dark blue jeans. She looked gorgeous and relaxed on top of it. To make it short – she glowed.

Had he been more eloquent and more used to making compliments, he would have said something. For a lack of words he trusted the red marguerite at her. "Here," he said, inwardly berating himself for his clumsiness. She took it with a smile, knowing fully well where it came from, but unwilling to comment on it now. She could sense his unease and it neatly matched hers.

"Come on in," she said stiffly and stepped aside to let him inside her apartment. He walked past her and stopped inside the living room. While she went to get a vase for the flower, she was all too aware of the fact that he wouldn't be able to resist snooping around her apartment. That idea didn't particularly inspire calm.

House curiously observed his surroundings while Cameron was gone. He had been here before, so the pastels and whites did not manage to surprise him anymore. What he was interested in now, on his second visit to Cameron-Land, were the details. He let his eyes wander over the titles of the books that were standing neatly aligned on the shelf. There the classics reconciled with modern literature and united to a paradox blend that strangely enough seemed to make sense considering who owned those books. He grinned. No tacky romance novels or other ghastly things - impressive.

He pulled out her copy of "The House of God" and leafed through it with a smirk. This was how she found him when she returned.

"Aren't you done snooping yet? Or should I disappear for a few more minutes?" she asked, announcing her presence.

"Oh, yes, please! You didn't even give me a chance to use my spy kit yet or rummage through your underwear drawer," he mocked. She merely rolled her eyes at him, but refrained from making a comment. "Is it actually mandatory now for every future doctor to read this?" His fingers were drumming on the neon green cover of the paperback novel.

"Not mandatory," she took the book from his hands and put it back on the shelf. "But advisable. It's kind of encouraging to read that you're not alone with your problems and that others have managed to pull through as well."

"So did it prepare you for what was to come?" He raised his chin and looked down at her with a stern look.

"I wasn't prepared for you," she told him with a quizzical little smile on her face.

He threw her a lopsided smirk. Talking about the book had only served one purpose - he had wanted to postpone the awkward silence, the one that was settling between them right now. Cameron, feeling uncomfortable as well, made another effort to breach it.

"Shall I get us something to drink? I've got soda, beer …" she was ready to ramble on about the contents of her refrigerator, but he interrupted her before she could finish her inventory.

"No, I'm fine thanks," he said, taking a seat on her cream coloured couch.

"Okay," she sat down next to him. For a few minutes neither of them said a word. His eyes were fixed on the dark wood tiles of her living room, because the situation would have been even more uncomfortable if he looked at her. Both of them carefully avoided to mention the previously announced theme for to night, but couldn't help thinking of it continuously. Sex, sex, sex, sex…

"Alright, this is not at all how I planned it," she finally admitted after a while, breaking the silence between them.

"Well, if it's any consolation to you, I didn't expect you to be that unimaginative…"

She merely arched a delicate eyebrow. "Any suggestions?" Apparently she didn't want to call it quits yet and neither did he.

"Got any DVDs?"

"I do, but nothing you'd like," she said after a moment of hesitation.

"Which is code for 'I own at least half a dozen of chick flicks', I suppose."

"That wasn't what I said," Cameron answered defensively.

"Right, let me have a look at your DVD collection."

"Suit yourself. They're under TV in that little cupboard there."

House got up and walked over to the indicated cupboard, using the tip of his cane to open it, so that he didn't have to kneel down in front of it. His eyes briefly skimmed over the titles: _Hamlet, Elizabethtown, The Holiday, A Good Year, Music and Lyrics, Sense and Sensibility…_ He had been right. She did indeed own nothing he deemed worth watching.

"Okay," he said, then turned around and walked towards the door. She could only stare at his retreating back incredulously. He was leaving because she didn't have any movie he wanted to watch!?

With his hand resting on the doorknob he turned around to her, "Are you coming, or what? Get that cute little ass of yours off the couch! We're getting something decent to watch!"

They had taken his motor bike. The ride had been - she tried to find the right words to describe it – a mixture between ecstasy and torture. He had given her his jacket, because when he had ushered her out of her own apartment, standing in the doorframe tapping his cane, she had forgotten hers in her hurry to leave. It was too big for her small frame, but she adored it nevertheless. It was his and quite unsurprisingly it even smelled like him.

She had spent the ride to the video store pressed against his back, her arms slung around his midriff, her head on his shoulder. Being so close to him evoked all kinds of unwelcome thoughts and rekindled her attraction to him. How would this evening end up? Did he feel attracted to her in the same way she felt attracted to him? At this point it was hard to tell. It could turn out a complete disaster or maybe a bit like this bike ride that was skidding somewhere along the blurry lines of pleasure and torture.

She got off of the bike, feeling unsteady. In spite of his bad leg, House managed to dismount the bike more gracefully. After all, he had had more practice. She started fumbling around with the helmet strap underneath her chin, but to no avail. He pretended to ignore her clumsy struggle with it until she called out to him.

"House!" she shot him an angry look through the sheer Plexiglas visor of her helmet.

"What?" he grinned at her.

"Help me?!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to trot after you looking like an idiot, that's why." She tugged impatiently at the strap again and like before her attempts were futile. Her fingers were cold from the motorbike ride and too numb to feel anything. Of course, he didn't have any problems like that. He had worn gloves.

"What if it amuses me?"

"House!!" She glared at him.

"Alright, alright," he raised his hands defensively, "calm down," his nimble fingers briefly fingered with the offending strap, then it was open and she could take off her helmet. "See there you go," he told her with a complacent grin on his face. He couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she looked with her slightly dishevelled hair and his leather jacket on. Like a biker chick.

"Glad you didn't decide to become a surgeon with those fab motor skills of yours," he said tugging lightly at her hand, impatient to get inside the video store.

"Glad we didn't get stopped by the police. I sure would have loved to you see trying to talk your way out of speeding and running over three traffic lights in a row," she answered with a honeyed grin on her face and sauntered past him. He stuck out his tongue at her retreating back, but quickly followed her inside.

They continued their banter as they walked down the aisle of the video store, withdrawn into their own little microcosm, where nothing existed but the two of them. They finally stopped in front of a shelf filled with horror films.

"Okay, for future reference, anything from this shelf and that one over there," he pointed at the section a few meters from them labelled 'Action', "is acceptable."

She just nodded and grinned. What made him suspicious of her unusually compliant behaviour though, was the fact that her grin seemed kind of ironic.

He took a movie from the shelf, "How about that one?"

"No, I've already seen that."

"Okay, then. How about that one?"

"Sorry, I've also seen that."

They repeated the whole procedure about two or three time until House finally snapped. "My God, woman! Is there any movie in this fucking store you haven't already seen?!"

She shrugged her shoulders innocently, "I just happen to really like horror movies that's all. And my social life hasn't exactly been flourishing ever since I moved to Princeton…"

"I had no idea," he said, feeling slightly sobered.

"No problem. I'm fine," she tried to put on a reassuring smile. Maybe it would have managed to convince other people, but not him. It still bothered him despite of the brave face she'd put on for his sake. Again, they had ventured into a terrain that he was not familiar with. Consoling other people or even cheering them up was not his forte, but he tried anyway. Of course, even now he couldn't jump over his own shadow.

"Let's make this less time consuming, okay? You get to pick the movie, considering that you're such an expert and what not," he conceded graciously.

"Gee, I really feel honoured," despite of the sarcasm in her voice, there was a smile on her face. Mission successfully accomplished.

Frowning she eyed the shelf in front of her. She was chewing her bottom lip, while she let her eyes roam over the DVD covers, put on display in front of her. Finally she discovered something that met her standards. Cameron took the movie from the shelf with a content expression on her face. She was smiling at him like she had achieved something grand which deserved praise.

"Donnie Darko? Sounds pretty lame to me," he observed sceptically.

"I'm sure you'll appreciate it. Young teenage boy has odd hallucinations about a man in a bunny costume, verbally abuses his high school teacher and his entire family. Not to forget his psychiatrist. Interested yet?"

"Intrigued even."

"Thought so."

There he sat on the cream white couch, with Cameron snoring softly on his shoulder while the credits of Donnie Darko rolled past and he listened to Michael Andrew's "Mad World" for the second time this evening. She had suggested they should watch the movie a second time and shortly after dozed off. He tried to move his fingers and watched in fascination as they tapped on the armrest as if they belonged to someone else. His arm was completely numb, thanks to her head doing such a bang-up job of cutting off its blood supply. Strangely enough, though, he felt no desire of easing the discomfort he was currently experiencing. He simply enjoyed sitting there with her snuggled up against him too much.

There had been times when he felt hollow. As if he were underwater, where everything was muted, liquid peace and happened in slow motion. He had watched as a detached observer as life glided by, focusing only on the intellectual puzzles and not the things he felt. Now things were different, mostly awkward and uncomfortable, but that was okay with him because, in between those moments of discomfort there were those short reprieves that urged him to keep going. They made him curious, wonder, dream…yes, and even hope. Maybe he could try again. He looked at her. Her pale skin almost seemed to be glowing thanks to the bluish light the screen was shedding on it. She looked like one of those fairy tale princesses, just not that innocent. There were so many facets to her; it was easy to be under some kind of misconception about her, he realized.

She stirred in her sleep and while he didn't mind much sitting there feeling pleasantly uncomfortable like this, he doubted she would thank him if she woke up the next morning with a stiff back. He shifted his arm, figuring that that would be the most diplomatic way of waking her, which she actually did a few moments later. Cameron looked at him with tiny eyes that were heavy with sleep. "House? Is…is the movie over yet?" she asked stifling a yawn.

"Yep, it's been for a while now."

She was too tired to process what his words implied: the fact that they had been sitting around in the dark with her sleeping on his shoulder indefinitely, without him doing anything about it.

"What time is it?" she rubbed her eyes.

"Something around 3 a.m., I guess," he answered in a low voice.

"That late already?" she asked surprised. "I'm sorry. I think I must have drifted of back there."

"Do tell. And I thought your snoring was a dead give-away," he smiled. His voice was soft and lacking its usual malice. He was teasing her, but she was too tired to notice.

Cameron got up from the couch clumsily, her motions considerably slower, thanks to her drowsiness. He followed her example, not quite sure what would happen next. His gaze alternated indecisively between the front door and her, and he was kneading his hands nervously. Her sleep-dazed mind didn't register his uncharacteristic behaviour or the way he eyed her with trepidation.

"I think I'd better be off to bed then," she announced taking his hand. What was she taking his hand for? He looked down at their entwined fingers with huge eyes. She tugged lightly at his arm. The gesture was accompanied by an encouraging, "Come on."

Was it really that simple after all that complication?

"Emm, Cameron?" he asked questioningly, raising one protesting finger in the air.

"Mmmmmh," she had already started trotting off in the direction where he assumed her bedroom was, dragging him after her. Oddly enough he felt somewhat scrupulous about following her there, so he froze in mid track.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure I want to go to sleep, thank you," she answered tiredly.

"You do realize that I'm not just some overgrown teddy bear you can drag after you?"

She looked at him questioningly in the semi-darkness. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means don't complain if my hands start wandering under the covers."

"Look, we're both adults. It's late we're both tired. It's either the bed or the couch or if you keep being you're usual charming self, I might even consider kicking you to the curb," Cameron stifled another yawn, looking excruciatingly cute doing so.

"In that case, I think I'll take the bed."

"Good choice," she agreed.

He paused for a second in the door frame to kick off his sneakers and button down his crumpled shirt under which, quite predictably, a faded band t-shirt appeared. He tugged it out of his jeans, but hesitated to take his trousers off. It wasn't too long she had seen him with nothing but his boxers on, but now the situation was different. He felt self-conscious.

Even in her current state of sleepiness Cameron apparently seemed to possess a lot of tact. Sensing his discomfort, she grabbed her pyjamas and headed to the bathroom to change, which allowed him to strip down to his boxers unobserved. He slipped under the covers and waited for her to return which she did only moments later. For a while they lay next to each other awkwardly, very aware of each others closeness. The sheets rustled as she turned around to face him in the dark. Her voice sounded drowsy, but at the same time teasing, "Didn't you say something about wandering hands?" He could see her eyes glinting at him in the darkness.

"I was just trying to be polite. I didn't think you'd fancy being molested in your sleep," he said sounding equally tired, therefore lacking his usual acerbic tone.

He heard her chuckle in the dark. Instead of an answer she just snuggled up to him, tugging him closer, as if he were indeed nothing but an over-sized teddy bear. He didn't protest. To his own surprise he found, that now, although earlier his life he had repeatedly declared that he hated snuggling, he seemed to be enjoying it. Her body warmth enwrapped him and calmed him to the point that he finally drifted off peacefully. For the first time in a very long while, he didn't have any trouble falling asleep.

Cameron slowly opened her eyes, blinking repeatedly against the morning sun that was falling in trough her bedroom window. Someone had forgotten to draw the blinds – again. Against the golden light of dawn that fell into room she could at first only make out his silhouette as he watched her propped up on one elbow. She wasn't able to see the expression on his face, so it was hard to tell which mood he was in and how he took to this whole new situation of waking up next to her in the morning. The best course of action was probably to wait and see, so she stayed were she was and waited for him to make the first move.

"Morning," he said softly. His was voice was even raspier than usual from lack of use. She was the first person he talked to today.

"Morning," she replied, careful to keep her tone neutral. Now that her eyes had adjusted to bright daylight, it was easier to discern the expression on his face. He watched her interestedly as if she posed some puzzle he had yet to solve. Only this time his gaze lacked its inherent unemotional detachment. Being exposed to it, she didn't feel like an insect under the microscope. Quite the opposite - it made her feel appreciated, like he truly cared for her, but maybe it was just her imagination.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she finally asked.

"No reason."

"Umum." She was already regretting having asked him that question.

After a while he relented with a sigh. "Because I like looking at you."

"Is that so?" Cameron turned to him with a smile.

"I keep wondering how a lovely creature, such as you, can manage an impressive snore like that. Ever thought about having your polyps checked?"

"Because you don't snore…" She stuck out her chin at him defensively.

"You wouldn't be able to tell. After all you've been asleep for the better part of last night."

His cheeky remark earned him a playful punch to the shoulder. Of course, he couldn't leave it at that. He retaliated by pulling the covers away from her.

"Oh, no you don't!" she laughed pulling at the other side of the blanket. The battle didn't last long, because House made sure he came out the winning party. He started tickling her mercilessly, so the soft cotton fabric started slipping from her grasp.

They both knew that was not who they really were. Whatever they were, they were not a giggling playful couple. In fact, the question as to whether they were a couple at all had not actually answered yet. It hovered between them like so many other things that had yet to be said. Maybe they were never meant to get as far as this, lying in bed together on a Saturday morning and yet again there they were. They had gotten further than both of them expected.

But how were they supposed to take the next step? The both knew that this was a turning point – something serious and scary. So they both tried to laugh it away, slipping into roles that were easier to play than their own.

"Stop it, please," Cameron begged, still giggling madly. Tears were already running down her cheeks and she was breathing heavily. He finally relented with the satisfying knowledge that he came out the winner of this little game. His hands had stopped tickling her and now rested on her abdomen, radiating heat. He watched her as she lay there, her hair in disarray, her chest raising and falling in a mesmerizing rhythm, looking the most sexy he had ever seen her.

Their eyes locked like they had so many times, only this time everything was different. So far everything had been a game they could both back out of whenever they chose, but not anymore. There was no way denying that he wanted her, no way denying she wanted him as well. Lies seemed senseless. Postponing the inevitable did, too.

By now he was tired of fighting, of always telling himself that no, he shouldn't give into desire. And who was he kidding? He had stopped fighting against this, the minute he had asked her to come and visit him again back in rehab. It was okay, okay, okay. The word echoed in his mind. It was the last coherent thought he formed, before he bent down and kissed her passionately. It took her a moment to register what was happening and what was about to happen, but then, after she had overcome her surprise, Cameron kissed him back eagerly. Her body pressed against his and whatever faint vestiges remained of his trademark cynic rationalism evaporated immediately. He tried to pull her closer, his hands tugging just as impatiently at the last remaining pieces of clothing that separated them as hers.

This was not tender, this was urgent. Three years of bent up sexual tension culminated in this moment. He did not think anymore. He was high on a total sensory overload. The feeling of her naked skin against his anticipated what he had so often imagined and only increased his hunger for her. Her body trembled underneath his touch and the soft moans that escaped her perfect lips only encouraged him to continue exploring her body, that body that was all creamy white skin and luscious curves.

She was impatient, just as impatient as he was. Her hands pulled him down to her for another kiss, filled with hunger and need. There was no more holding back, no more pretending. After this kiss the last remnants of that innocent, immaculate Cameron he had imagined her to be were forever banished from his mind. The way she slung her legs around his hips, she dragged her nails across his back, so it only hurt the slightest bit, the way she pressed her lips against his regardless of his scruffy beard…God! He had been so wrong about her. She was perfection, perfection he didn't want to catalogue or rationalize anymore, just feel, explore, make his.

She beckoned him to come closer, always closer, with a soft pressure of her legs. He complied all too willingly. Her eyes met his in wonder, then there was this languid satisfied expression, before she closed them contently and enjoyed the sensation of feeling him inside her. As he slowly started moving, her hands began roaming over his back again. It felt way too good. He wanted to draw this out and enjoy every second of this, which he couldn't…they couldn't if she kept on doing this. It would be over much too soon. He grasped her wrists and pinned them to the mattress left and right of her head. She chuckled in response to his actions. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth too, before another wave of passion hit him and swept the smile away. He loosened his grip on her wrist to entwine his fingers with hers- very tightly and very possessively. 


	9. Good Enough

Cameron woke to the sound of clattering dishes and softly mumbled curses coming from the kitchen. It was not a very pleasant noise to wake up to. She ran a hand through her messy hair, massaging her scalp with her fingers. "What the hell?!" she muttered to herself. A brief glance to the right verified what she had suspected all along. The bed beside her was empty. Its former occupant had obviously found his way to the kitchen and was now wrecking chaos there.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stifling a yawn, as she made a few clumsy steps in the direction of the dresser next to her bed, out of which she took a pair of shorts and tank top. She quickly put the pants on and slipped the tank top over her head. Doubtlessly he would make a mess out of her kitchen in a matter of seconds if she didn't hurry up.

Quite predictably, Cameron found him there, eyeing her chrome espresso machine with a death glare as if it were his worst enemy. Dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts and the t-shirt he had worn yesterday, he wasn't a very threatening sight.

"Oh, good! You're up," he acknowledged her presence. Frankly, she had hoped for a more enthusiastic greeting, but she was willing to settle for this. After all it was pretty amazing he had decided to stay, instead of running off in the middle of the night like she had feared he would.

"What's that supposed to be? A futuristic thumbscrew or some kind of coffee machine?!" he pointed at the offending domestic appliance.

Despite his irritation, she had to smile. "It's an espresso machine. You know, like the ones the baristas in Italy use to make coffee."

"Aaalright," he mockingly stretched out the word and rolled his eyes at her. "A tad bit snobby, don't you think?"

"How about you actually taste the coffee before you call me a snob?" She walked towards him and softly pushed him out of the way. The heat of her palm radiated through the thin cotton of his shirt, their eyes locking for a second. She gave him one of her sexy little smirks. He moved aside compliantly. Leaning casually against the counter next to her, he watched her rummaging through the kitchen. She stretched in order to reach the box with the grounded coffee sitting on the top shelf. Her shirt moved up a bit revealing a small strip of cream white skin. Her movements had something graceful to them. Like a dancer she stood one foot while the other leg was stretched out behind her, so that she could keep her balance.

"Really, House, you're not much of a gentleman," she said in a mock reproachful tone, when she finally held the coffee box in her hands.

"Sorry, you were saying? I was busy staring at your ass," he grinned at her lopsidedly. It looked kind of sexy.

"Oh, really?" Another one of those little well-measured smirks. "Then I might just be able to forgive you."

When she pushed the lever of the espresso machine down slowly, the pitch black syrupy fluid poured into two tiny cups.

"You still haven't answered my question from before…Why the sudden onslaught of snobbery?" He looked at her with his chin raised challengingly.

"I drink a lot of coffee," she handed him his cup and raised her own as if to toast him. "Actually," she looked down at the little onyx pool underneath her nose thoughtfully, "I'm practically living off it. There no point in drinking something constantly, that doesn't taste good."

"I see." He took a sip of espresso. It was pleasantly warm and bittersweet. It took him back to another era, where he had been twenty ears old and travelling Europe with a backpack. He clicked his tongue appreciatively. "Not half bad."

"See," she beamed at him like managing to cook a decent coffee was something grand.

Silence settled between them – the comfortable variety. Cameron was sipping from her espresso stealing little glances at the man standing opposite of her. The man she thought she knew so well. The man she had never expected to be able to do domestic, though the moment they were just sharing could be very well labelled as that.

They both looked a bit tattered, but neither of them was self-conscious about it. In fact, House was even radiating a considerable amount of self-assuredness as he stood there inside her kitchen, casually leant against the counter, drinking his coffee. His beard was even scruffier then usual, his hair unruly and sticking up in all directions. She was struggling to find the right adjectives to describe him. Dorky? Cute? Sexy?

The sun cast in golden rays of light through the window pane. She bit her lips to keep herself from smiling contently. She was afraid it would spoil things - it would be just like asking him why he had decided to stay. A wrong move.

House raised his head and caught her staring. What he saw in her eyes frightened him. Was that hope? Hope meant responsibility and he wasn't sure whether he was ready for it to be dumped on his shoulders just yet. She was probably thinking that after last night things between them would somehow work out. That there was actually going to be a 'we', as in her and him together. But that was crazy - maybe even too crazy for him. He'd have to do a one-eighty in order for this to work. Stop taking constantly and start giving. He'd have to take care of her, love her, above all try to not hurt her with the stupid things he tended to say and do. All in all, assume responsibility.

_Undoable! Unthinkable!_ Especially, since he was already having trouble understanding the concept of responsibility itself. He preferred to weasel his way out of things and repress the urge of thinking about the consequences of his actions. On top of it he wasn't acting very responsible when it came to his health either…he wasn't a good choice, not exactly boyfriend material. Not good enough for her.

Then again he was having trouble thinking of anybody that deserved her. No mere mortal came to mind right away. Maybe Brad or George…

"It's been nice and all, but I better be going now," he said with a sigh, realizing that it would be best to leave now.

"Where to?" she asked reflexively, regretting it instantly.

He gave no answer, busying himself with depositing his cup inside the sink instead. "It's Sunday. Gotta go to Mass or God will get angry with me. Especially after last night," he said, already walking past her towards the bedroom.

Cameron stayed where she was, gob-smacked by his harsh words. She stood staring at the window, listening to him moving about in her bedroom. The soft jingle of his belt reached her ears. He was probably just picking up his jeans from the floor. Then there was the telltale rattle of pills inside a plastic container. She turned her head and looked in the direction of her bedroom, her eyes squinted, a frown on her face. Something was off.

She hesitated for the fraction of a second before she started moving. "House," he heard her softly say his name from behind him, but he didn't turn around. The stale metallic taste of the Vicodin he had just dry swallowed still lingered on the tip of his tongue. It tasted like guilt, like defeat, like one too many.

"It still isn't over yet, isn't it?" She asked quietly.

There was no lying to her or even himself when things were that obvious. "No, it isn't."

She walked around him and sat down on the foot end of the bed facing him. Her toes were constantly curling and uncurling, digging into the soft, fluffy carpet.

"What can I do?" she asked after a while.

"I don't know." He sat down next to her with a deject sigh. He still held the orange container with the pills inside his hand.

"House…Greg," she was momentarily struggling with word. "Did last night mean anything at all to you?"

As always hesitation, then an answer she didn't expect. "Everything," he admitted gravely.

"You don't have to leave." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"I thought I had to." His mind drifted off to other Sundays he had spent alone, stretched out on his sofa comfortably wrapped in a daze of pills and alcohol. He looked quite forlorn.

"Come on, give yourself a nudge. Stay." She entwined her fingers with his giving his hand a soft tug.

"Maybe…"

"That's a yes then." Cameron said softly.

How she had managed to persuade him to get into a tub with her was beyond him. Oh, right! Now he remembered. How could he have ever forgotten? Then again her legs rubbing up along the outside of his thigh and her upper body pressed against his back were having an ever so slightly distracting effect.

She had been standing there in front of the tub, wrapped only in her silk gown with her back facing him. Then she had opened the gown and led it glide down her body. It had ruffled at her feet, leaving her naked in front of him. She had thrown him a smouldering look over her shoulder that suggested that more sex was in the near future for him…Well, that had basically been reason why he had agreed to the idea of having a bath together so willingly.

"You're not enjoying yourself," she commented with a slightly offended undercurrent in her voice that quickly changed to a mocking tone. "I thought the day I'd have to say the words would never come, but here it is. Take your own advice and unclench, House."

"You lured me here under false pretence. I thought we were going to have sex, instead I'm turning into a live-sized prune merrily wrinkling away in hot bathwater. What's there too enjoy?" He said accusingly.

She only laughed in response, her body wiggling behind him ever so slightly, as her laughter echoed from the bathroom tiles. It was a very appealing feeling to say the least, but over all too soon, so that he was quickly back to feeling rather ridiculous sitting there in the bathtub with her.

"Relax," Cameron whispered softly in his ear. She dipped her fingers into the bathwater. Concentric circles extended over the surface like tiny waves. Her wet fingertips left a pleasantly warm trace on his chest and neck where the water didn't reach. They continued upwards over his cheeks with featherlike touches. He let out a pleased hum and relaxed against her. Her hands massaged his temples in long fluid strokes, starting in the middle of his forehead extending all the way to his sideburns. They repeated this motion over and over again, never stopping their gentle caress. He let out a sigh of contentment and allowed himself to get lost in this sensation that was way too pleasant not to enjoy. He closed his eyes, something he rarely did when he wasn't alone and got lost inside the fantasy that was emerging from his subconscious. They were floating naked in the Mediterranean Sea. The water was warm, heated by the sun. Everything seemed so easy all of a sudden. Something other than a happy ending seemed unimaginable, even impossible.

"This is nice," he said in a low and relaxed voice that almost resembled a purr.

"Yes, it is," she answered softly. "What about your leg? Are you comfortable?"

"What leg?" He asked drowsily, too relaxed to sum up the energy for a sarcastic tone of voice.

She had come to get him from his first therapy session. It had taken a lot of convincing from her side to actually get him to go there. When she resorted to her secret weapon –bribery- he had finally agreed. They both knew that there was no sense in trying to bribe him if he didn't want to do something in the first place. Nevertheless what she offered had been quite enticing and made the decision easier for him. Among many other things (sex, food, taking over his clinic duty etc.) she had promised him a stack of CD, which he had all too happy reminded her of, the second he got into her car after therapy.

So now they were inside this heavily air-conditioned multimedia store that felt like a giant freezer cramped with all sort of CDs and DVDs. The shop was vastly populated by teenagers even most of the staff was barely over eighteen. What was perplexing, though, was the fact that House didn't seem to stand out too much with his trucker hat popping up and down to the beat of the music he was listening to over his headphones. There was already an alarmingly high stack of CDs piled in front of him, which made her regret her offer instantly. He grinned cheekily when he caught her preoccupied glance. He held one earphone away from his head so that his voice wouldn't boom across the store. "I'm going to be awhile…"

"Yeah, I've noticed," she smiled despite the premonition of a devastatingly high bill and squeezed his hand before she trailed off to the jazz section.

Cameron started breezing through the various CDs in front of her without looking for something in particular, occasionally stealing furtive glances at him. Somehow their eyes locked across the store and he smiled at her, genuinely and unashamedly. She was taken aback. He had never done that. She was used to sardonic grins, lopsided smirks, but not full blown smiles that suggested he felt happy. After she had overcome her initial shock she managed to smile back at him. The way he looked at her made her feel like a teenager again, maybe the atmosphere of this place contributed to it a bit as well.

Cameron giggled, slightly blushing when she continued strolling down the aisle. When she shot him a quick sideways glance he was still looking. Cameron stuck out her tongue at him and continued walking towards the special offers corner. Unfortunately she failed to see the shop assistant that was briskly striding towards her, his arms full of DVDs. They collided and landed in a heap on the floor, while various movies were raining down on them. House's laughter boomed through the frosty air-conditioned store, thanks to the fact that he had his headphones still on. Several customers turned their heads to look at him with startled and questioning expressions on their faces.

He just shrugged his shoulders. "What?! Michael Stipe just cracks me up every time!" For a lack of a better explanation he made a show out of waving 'Automatic for People' in the air, which had been lying on the top of his stack.

In the meantime Cameron had successfully managed to disentangle herself from the shop assistant and was apologizing profusely, helping him to collect the DVDs from the floor. A blush was starting to creep up her cheeks. She hadn't felt this silly and embarrassed in a very long time. The young men made a show out of brushing some imaginary lint from his clothes and walked away, shooting her evil glares over his shoulder.

She nervously tugged a loose strain of hair behind her ear and looked around timidly before she decided to pretend to be deeply engrossed in the next best CD she could get her hands on. Maybe no one had noticed. Hopefully the CDs would manage to distract House so he would forget about that little incident…yeah, right! Who was she kidding? He would never let this go.

After a while Cameron trotted back to him with a resigned expression on her face, ready to weather whatever witty remark was sure to come. Sure enough, when he saw her slouching down the aisle towards him, a huge smirk spread on his face. She stopped a few inches from him, to glare at him challengingly.

He took off his headphones and kissed the crown of her head, still smirking. "So, Cameron, it's just an educated guess, but could it be that you never took any ballet lessons as a child?" She punched his shoulders. The punch was only about a fifty percent playful. "Ouch," he made a point out of rubbing the spot she had hit with her fist. "What?! I was just going to tell you that you're a natural. You've got the dying swan down pretty well."

She just glared at him, apparently failing entirely to be threatening, because that stupid grin wouldn't disappear from his face. "I can see you're already in the mood," he mocked, clearly pushing his luck. "Well, keep that thought. I'll be back with more CDs."

"More?! House, are you trying to ruin me?!" She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"No, of course not. I'm deeply offended, Cameron. I'm just trying to help you."

"In what way is maxing out my credit card helping me?"

"Well, let me put it like this…Receiving that kind of a gift from you will most likely overwhelm me so much that I'm probably going to forget that you're a total klutz," Cameron opened her mouth to protest, but she was so outraged by his words that she couldn't come up with a retort. "Now be a good girl and hold my place while I am gone." Before she could answer anything, he had put the earphones on her head, pushed play and ambled down the aisle. Cameron was about to take them off again and call something after him when the song started. A song that was entirely not House's style, which made her curious immediately.

_You only stay with me in the morning  
You only hold me when I sleep  
I was meant to tread the water  
But now I've gotten in too deep_

This sounded like the prelude to some mushy love song. Maybe he had put the CD on to keep her entertained…nah, House wasn't that considerate.

_For every piece of me that wants you  
Another piece backs away_

You give me something  
That makes me scared alright  
This could be nothing  
But I'm willing to give it a try  
Please give me something  
Because someday I might know my heart

When she heard those words sung out, a chill ran down her spine and her mouth went dry. She gulped heavily. Then again maybe he was more considerate than she gave him credit for. He had never told her how he felt about her, not with words at least. What kept her going were the looks he gave her, the way he touched her and kissed her. And that was enough for her. She didn't want any grand romantic gestures from him. That was just not who he was. This was not a box of chocolate, roses or a hand written love letter. It was more than she had ever expected from him: genuine, thoughtful, sensitive…_God, did she just use those words connected to House?_ Cameron looked around for him searchingly and spotted him rummaging through some CD across the room. He didn't look at her, probably on purpose.  
The song continued, enthralling her more and more with each word.

_You only waited up for hours  
Just to spend a little time alone with me  
And I can say I've never bought you flowers  
I can't work out what they mean_

I never thought that I'd love someone  
That was someone else's dream

You give me something  
That makes me scared alright  
This could be nothing  
But I'm willing to give it a try  
Please give me something  
Because someday I might call you from my heart

But it might be a second too late  
And the words that I could never say  
Are gonna come out anyway

You give me something  
That makes me scared alright  
This could be nothing  
But I'm willing to give it a try  
Please give me something  
Because someday I might know my heart

Know my heart, know my heart, know my heart

By the time the song had ended her vision had clouded over and she was fighting back tears. She didn't want to start bailing her eyes out in front of all these people. As if on cue House returned. He took in her watery eyes and her sniffling nose with a frown. "What's up with you?" he asked in surprise. She couldn't tell whether it was fake or genuine.

"This song…" She managed to croak out.

"Yeah, what do you think? I'm not sure about this one – should I take it or leave it?" He rubbed the back of sheepishly, unable to meet her eye. Was he embarrassed?

"You should definitely take it." Her voice was shaky with emotion.

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Good," he nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

Cameron smiled, diligently suppressing the urge to scream those three words at him that lay on the tip of her tongue – again. Instead she threw her arms around him and hugged him like she was hanging onto him for dear life. He was not one for public displays of affection and sometimes even now, that they had been together for almost over a month, he occasionally skipped into fight or flight mode when she spontaneously hugged him. Oddly enough this time his arms engulfed her without hesitance, pulling her even closer to him.

"Are you that happy because I'm buying that damned CD?" he whispered mockingly in her ear.

She laughed softly and took a step back. "No."

"What is it then?" He enquired, while his blue eyes fixed her intently.

Cameron cocked her head slightly to the left and regarded him pensively for a moment. Time seemed to still and the background noise of the store faded into nothingness. There was no one else expect them. "I…," she flashed him a shy little smile, "Well, it's just," Cameron looked down, briefly unable to hold his penetrating gaze much longer. It seemed like she was lost in some kind of internal debate. She had promised herself she wouldn't say it first. It was against everything woman magazines and relationship guidebooks preached, but right now she didn't give a damn about it. Why not say it when it felt so right? It hadn't felt right in a very long time. Not since her husband had died. It took a few second for her to continue talking, but when she did her initial insecurity had disappeared.

"It's just that I love you, Greg," she said softly.  



	10. I ChooChooChoose You

Cameron blinked repeatedly as the specimen underneath the lens of the microscope began to blur under her scrutiny. She had been staring at it for several minutes now, waiting in vain for the answer to pop up in her head spontaneously. Disappointed she blew out a breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose, where her glasses had left tiny red imprints.

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? She tended to lose all sense of time down here, surrounded by the monotonous hum of high-tech medical equipment. Cameron pushed back the sleeve of her lab coat to throw a quick glance at her watch. It was 1:30 a.m. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Oh boy, had she lost track of time! Maybe she should call it a night. It seemed unlikely that all the answers would come to her in the next couple of minutes.

With meticulous care she started cleaning up the lab as she had done a hundred times before. Each movement was part of a previously established routine that allowed her get lost in her own thoughts.

House stood outside the lab, watching her through the glass wall while she scurried here and there, completely oblivious to his presence. For once this week's medical dilemma wasn't what was foremost on his mind - there was another puzzle that occupied his thoughts. She had told him that she loved him.

No one had said those words to him in a very long time. As a matter of fact, he had gone such a long time without hearing them that he had doubted they would ever be uttered again in reference to him. He was so used to people verbally abusing him, resorting to individually varying degrees of linguistic creativeness, that he hadn't expected this. Not in the least bit. As a result he somehow seemed to have forgotten what the customary reaction to a declaration of love was.

When he had heard her say 'I love you', he had frozen completely. His normally keen mind had congealed in shock, leaving him with virtually nothing to say. He had no sarcastic comment to hide behind, not even the tiniest smidgeon of inventiveness that he could use to scrape together some sort of reply. So he had been reduced to standing there like a blithering idiot, staring at her unblinkingly. When a suitable amount of time had passed, enough to be able to pretend to ignore what had just passed between them, he had cleared his throat and mumbled something about being tired and wanting to go home. The way her shoulders had slumped told him more about her disappointment in him than words would have. He was disappointed in himself as well. He could have handled the situation better, but then again he could have also done worse. Much worse!

Cameron finally noticed him standing there and froze, wordlessly staring at him through the glass. Was he imagining things or did she still look somewhat disappointed, maybe even slightly pissed off? He narrowed his eyes and studied her like one would with a fascinating and equally beautiful exotic animal in zoo. She held his gaze for a second, frowned and then threw her hands up in exasperation, mumbling something he couldn't understand through the glass that separated them. Maybe he was lucky he didn't.

"You're still here," she observed coolly, when he finally entered the lab. She had her back turned to him, pretending to focus all her concentration on putting their patient's blood samples back inside the freezer.

"Yap, playing Donkey Kong made me kind of dizzy. Fell asleep in my office chair," he stifled a fake yawn. This conversation was turning out completely different than he had imagined. He had wanted to be sincere, say something….he didn't know what the hell he had wanted to say, but certainly not this.

No sooner had the door of the freezer fallen shut, did she whip around to glare at him angrily. "Is this why you came down here?! To tell me that you were slacking and got tired over doing nothing, while we mere mortals were wrecking our brains to find out what is wrong with your patient?!" Cameron knew she was being unfair, especially since playing video games helped him focus on the medical problem at hand. She just couldn't sum up the energy to start caring, however.

"No," he said simply, waiting in vain for his own outrage to set in. For some reason it just wouldn't come.

"Oh," she looked down at the tips of her sensible flat loafers for a second, ere she dared to meet his eyes again. "What did you come down here for then?"

"I don't know," he rubbed the back of his neck. Inside he was cursing himself for being a complete wimp, unable to say what he truly wanted to say. This sort of behaviour went against his nature and irritated him to no end.

"Great," she let out a sad little laugh.

"No! Not great. Not great at all," he sighed, "Hold on…That's not at all what I wanted to say," he tiredly massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, what did you want to say then?" Cameron crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him expectantly, slowly losing her patience with him.

"See this is the whole point. I want to say a whole lot of things, but this here…," he gesticulated wildly between the two of them, "this whole situation makes me feel so damned uncomfortable, everything I want to say comes out wrong," House explained exasperatedly.

"So you're saying that all of this is my fault? That I'm making you feel uncomfortable?! This is rich coming from a man who left me standing there like a complete idiot after I told him that I loved him…" her hostile glare bore into him from across the room. She was looking for a quick escape route her eyes darting here and there, but unfortunately he was blocking the only exit. There was no way out of this situation and also no way to avoid direct confrontation.

"Yes, about that…"

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say…"

"What?!"

There it was - the outrage he had been waiting for. "For God's sake! Would you please try to not make this any harder than it already is?! I'm trying to apologize!"

"You are?" Cameron said in a small voice that sounded so incredible fragile in comparison to his booming baritone that had just filled the room.

"Yes."

"Alright. Well, then say what you came here for."

"It's not that easy."

"House, it's never easy with you."

"But it should be," he said darkly, reading more into her words than he was supposed to.

"No, it shouldn't," Cameron shook her head in determination. "This is you and me. This is the way we are. It's okay."

"Just a minute ago you didn't sound like it was," House gave to think.

"I was upset. I...I still am, but only a little."

"Which means you're actually far from being okay, which makes you…," he narrowed his eyes and pointed his index finger at her dramatically, "…a liar," he scolded her. He was too tired to sum up the energy for genuine sarcasm and to his own surprise he had to discover that he sounded rather depressed.

"Your logic is impeccable," she said dryly.

"So don't tell me it was okay, when clearly it wasn't," he said in all seriousness, fixing her with his intense blue eyes.

"Alright," she admitted finally, shrugging her shoulders. "It wasn't your finest hour, but maybe I shouldn't have blurted it out like that…"

"No…you should be able to say what you want to and not have to worry about me being a bastard," he pointed out.

"You're not being a bastard," her voice was soft and reassuring.

"Thanks, but surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel any better. Even I can tell that's not the way it's supposed to work."

"Okay, so how is it supposed to work then?" she asked, willing to follow his line of thoughts.

"I don't know. Just not like that," he said exasperatedly.

"When I said those words yesterday, I didn't expect you to reciprocate. I didn't get my hopes up for any big declarations of undying love…"

"That's just great! That's probably what's written in all those sappy romance novels 'She didn't get her hopes up for any big declarations of undying love and they lived happily ever after'," he rolled his eyes at her.

"Okay, why do I've the feeling there's more being this than you're actually letting on…" Cameron looked at him with a preoccupied expression on her face.

"Are you settling for this?" He asked abruptly. "Because it looks to me like you are."

"House, I'm not settling for anything!" The way her voice suddenly increased in volume made clear that she was absolutely mortified by his words. "Would I have told you I loved you if I was settling for you?" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Look, we've known each other for how long? Three years? It's not like I ran into this blindly. I knew what I was getting myself into. I want this. I want you."

"You're completely insane." He shook his head regretfully.

"Maybe, but strangely, I just don't care."

He smiled at that, but the tinge of melancholy in his eyes was hard to overlook, therefore Cameron felt compelled to encourage him. "Besides, I think you're selling yourself short."

"Oh, actually I've got a pretty high opinion of myself – brilliant diagnostician, devastatingly handsome, keen mind, speaks a couple of languages, will-strong enough to overcome an addiction. The downfall is just that I seem to be kind of crappy when it comes to relationships."

"Okay. So what? I'm not that good at relationships either. Does that mean you just want to give up… just like that?"

A seemingly endless period of time passed before he finally answered. "No, but I don't know if I can change," the next words were spoken more quietly. "I don't know if I can give you what you're looking for."

"I told you before. You don't have to change for me."

"Oh, Cameron," he chuckled mirthlessly, "you're so heartbreakingly naïve. That guy that left you standing there after you told him you loved him that was me. It pissed you off, didn't it? Well, I can promise you there will be many more occasions, you will feel like that. With me that's almost a guarantee."

"Why do you keep trying to tell me that you're the bad guy? Does the thought of you and me together actually scare you this much? Or…is it just that you don't like yourself?" Cameron looked utterly calm and collected when she posed him those questions, but it was just a façade. Her stomach churned, her palms were sweaty and her heart was racing inside her chest as if she had just run a marathon.

"I don't have to answer that," he shook his head and turned around to leave. This time it was her turn to step in his way.

"You're right," she said quietly, looking up at him with her sharp green eyes. "You don't have to answer that. I already know."

"Get out of my way, Cameron," he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"No," she said calmly. Her fingers brushed over the hand that held his cane. His resolve began to waver.

"I'm much taller and heavier than you. Ever seen what happens to a running back during a football match? It's not pretty." He leaned into her trying to sound threatening, but the effect was marred as he inhaled her shampoo. His thoughts drifted to forbidden places: her showering, massaging the shampoo into her hair - slowly, sensually. Water running over her naked body, which was all long slender legs and curves. Yes, sleeping with an underling tended to complicate matters. The expression on his face shifted from barely threatening to barely concealed longing in a split second.

That was probably why she just laughed off his remark. "Yes, but how is that relevant now?"

He let out a frustrated groan. It looked like he wasn't going anywhere soon.

"Look, could you just listen to me for a second?" Cameron pleaded with the disgruntled man in front of her.

"If you insist…" his tone rather befitting of a scowling nine year old than of a grown man.

She came closer, crossing the distance between them until they stood only inches apart. The seam of her lab coat brushed against his trouser legs, when she came to a halt. Apart from that they didn't touch. Their sudden proximity, however, managed to quickly change the mood between them, like it had done so many times before. Their eyes locked and silently communicated what was left to be read between the lines when they spoke. His expression softened. He gave her little nod, which was all the encouragement she needed.

"I bet that I can tell you…well, I don't know…let's say five things, shall we? Five things I like about you. Just like that, off the top of my head," Cameron told him with a quizzical half-smile. She stood so close him, he could her hear her voice clearly, even though it was just a whisper.

"That's childish and sappy, but if you want to waste both of our time, go ahead," he threw her a humourless smirk, which died as quickly as it had come. It turned out it was rather difficult being sarcastic, when they were this up close and personal.

She gave him a warm smile that cringed the skin around her eyes into attractive little laughter lines. "I suppose all of this will go to your head, won't it? But it's for a greater good after all."

"Really? Do tell me what's that greater good again, because I must have skipped that part."

"Making you realize that you're not a bad person."

"You do remember who I am? No case of amnesia or head trauma, right? In case you forgot, let me fresh up your mind. I'm Doctor Gregory House, your boss, also incidentally the guy you're screwing. You can call me 'Master' if you like, but don't go near my patients. What they tell you about me might scatter this nice little illusion of hero-worship you built up for yourself there. For some odd reason they all seem to think I'm a bastard."

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or do you want to bask in the sound of your own voice some more?" She looked up at him sternly.

"No, no go ahead. I'm listening," he raised his hands defensively.

"Good, just shut up and try no to kill the mood."

"There is a mood for that?"

"I'm beginning to thing you're sabotaging this on purpose," she looked at him from underneath her eyelashes.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" he sighed.

"Glad you finally noticed."

"Alright, I'll behave."

"Thanks."

She took a moment to collect her thoughts again, channelling whatever mood was necessary to adequately sing his praise. Then when she finally spoke, her words silenced his mocking inner voice.

"You have something about you that manages to fascinate people, even though you try hard to keep them at a distance. It draws them to you, a lot of times despite of the things you do or say. And whatever that may be…it has to be something really amazing," she tilted her head a little to the left, watching him intently, "I just don't know why you're so set on having to hide it from everyone."

Even if he had wanted to say something he wouldn't have been able to at this point. It had been long since anybody had spoken this kindly of him. In fact probably nobody ever had. The only thing he could do was stand there listening as she continued, oblivious to his emotional reaction to her words.

"And you're brilliant," she looked down, her fingers toying with the hem of her lab coat. "Not you're average kind of brilliant. You're smart, but you already knew that, didn't you? A lot of people must have told you by now," Cameron threw him a shy little grin. "But it's not only that. You have to see things through, turn them over and over until you've seen every little detail there is about them. Until you can make them yours, because you've found out their secret."

She raised her chin to meet his eyes. His face was unreadable, making it even harder for her to continue taking, but she did anyway, because she had wanted to tell him those things all along. "You love your i-pod, your sneakers, monster trucks, cotton candy, watching the OC, playing practical jokes on people…" He smiled a little, probably reminiscing upon a few of those pranks he played on some unsuspecting victims. "You've never managed to grow up, which makes you incredibly fun to be around, but also sometimes ever so slightly irritating."

"Oh, do continue! This is all so very flattering," he said, trying to cover up the fact that her words were affecting him so deeply with a joke.

"I thought you might like this," she looked up meeting his intense blue eyes whose expression was soft and serious despite of the laughter in his voice.

"Well, is there more or do you give up already? I thought you could talk all day about how awesome I am…"

"I'm sorry, it's just really hard to narrow it down, you know," there was a subtle quiver in her voice, ever so slightly reminiscent of a suppressed giggle.

"Was that sarcasm, Doctor Cameron?"

"Never."

"Good, because _that_ would destroy the mood."

"We can't have that, can we?"

"Oh, absolutely not. So, please, continue!"

The grin on her face was slowly eclipsed by a more serious expression. Cameron nervously licked her lips. "You probably won't like this…"

"I didn't like this little game to begin with," he shrugged his shoulders. "So you might as well…"

"Right," she took a deep breath. "I know that you care," she blurted out abruptly.

"Wow, you don't say?! Really? Who told you that? Oh, probably Wilson and his old blabbermouth…"

She completely disregarded his last comment, knowing fully well that he was just trying to stir her away from this delicate subject. "It just doesn't shine through very often, but when it does you make an effort. You try to help…the best way you know how to. Sometimes, very rarely, you even jump over your own shadow – provide comfort when it's needed, a few gentle words, a pet on the shoulder…"

"Are you just making things up now, Cameron? Because it sounds to me like you are."

"I don't know. Am I, House?"

He looked around the lab that was all clean and shiny metal surfaces. A place too sterile, it seemed, for this conversation. "No," House finally said softly.

She answered with an encouraging smile. Neither of them spoke for a little while.

"And? Did you save the best for last?"

This time she ignored his comment and decided instead to just continue where she had left of. "What you said back then…a long time ago, when we went on that one awful date…God, it seems like a lifetime ago. Do you remember at all?"

"It's not a conversation you'd easily forget," he said calmly.

"No, it isn't," she smiled wistfully. "You said that I didn't love, that I needed. And that I only wanted you because you were damaged and I wanted to fix you…," her voice died away and her eyes assumed a faraway look momentarily as if she had lost herself in the memory of that particular night.

"Yeah," his low voice ripped her out of her reference.

"You're not damaged," she said.

He let out a sigh and looked her with a mixture of resignation and amusement. "Is that it? The big revelation? Well, this is certainly a nice sentiment and all, but we both know that you're slightly biased. Damn, I must be really good in the sack."

"Shut up, House!" Cameron said softly and to his own surprise he did. Maybe it was because of the sound of her voice. There was no spite and not even the faintest trace of anger in it. It was unexpectedly matter-of-factly.

"You're not damaged." She said it again, only this time with more vehemence as if she was really meaning it. And maybe she was. Who was he to tell? Nevertheless this little game was slowly starting to irritate him.

"On what are you basing this brilliant assumption, huh? It's not like one month with me entitles you to claim you know everything about me?"

"I don't pretend to know everything about you, Greg. Just the one thing that matters." Her deliberate use of his first name ticked him off.

She was absolutely calm and what was worse seemingly unaffected by his words. It was driving him nuts. His face contorted into a sneer, vicious words lay on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst out of him. He swallowed them down at the last second, because he knew if he said them, he would crush her, something he had sworn himself never to do. So he willed those words to turn into a ghostly echo inside his head, while their bitter taste still lingered in his mouth. He breezed past her, callously pumping her shoulder as he did so. Like a caged animal he began to pace up and down in front of her, muttering swearwords under his breath. Finally he stopped and threw her a seething look.

"The one thing that matters…," he spat. "So it doesn't matter to you whether or not I get my stones off with some hooker when you're not around? Or wash down a handful of Vicodin with a shot of Jack Daniels? And I bet you're also not losing any sleep over the question whether I still might have Stacey's number. Don't you sometimes ask yourself if I still call her from time to time and how often that is?" He looked at her face to see if his words had struck a chord. Her lips trembled ever so slightly, her nostrils flared, but then, and he couldn't quite explain how she did it, she had herself under control again. "Can you claim to know if those things are just something I made up or if they're real?" He inserted a dramatic pause. "I didn't think so. Means you don't really know me."

"But I trust you," she said finally. He expected to feel some kind of triumph upon discovering that her eyes were watery, but there was nothing but a cold and nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He looked at her for a moment with a bemused expression on his face. "That's got to be the most stupid thing I've ever heard!" he whispered. "I've given you absolutely no reason to trust me."

She shrugged her shoulders. "You gave me a lot of reason to love you."

"I never did. I always tried to…," he swallowed the last part of the sentence down, but apparently he didn't need to say it anyway.

"…to keep me at arm's length."

"Yes," he nodded weakly. His anger had seeped away, leaving him cold and empty.

"Your eyes always betrayed you."

"Did you learn nothing in the last few years? Everybody lies. Even I'm not exempt from that rule."

"I know… You're probably the biggest liar of them all."

"What?!" He let out a loud laugh that sounded nothing but artificial.

"You make a really huge effort to appearing abrasive and uncaring…"

"See that's where you've got it all wrong. I don't have to make that much of an effort. I really am that abrasive and uncaring."

She shook her head vehemently. "I don't think so. That's just the impression you'd like us all to have. You care. Why else would you brood in your office with the blinds drawn or try to numb yourself with alcohol and pills?"

"Because it's relaxing?" he volunteered.

"I think the reason why you're shutting yourself off, is that you're afraid of what might happen. Afraid that you might eventually begin to care, even worse, maybe get attached to someone. You'd make yourself vulnerable and expose yourself to the risk of being hurt again, which is something you'd like to avert at any cost. I understand that you don't want to go through something like you did with Stacy ever again. The hurt, the loss, the desperation…You understand those feelings better than you know."

It quickly dawned on him. "Your dead husband…" he said in a low voice. He wasn't respectful of a whole lot of things, but the death of her husband was one of them. It was a topic they had skirted around a couple of times, but had never addressed directly. She didn't seem to be ready to talk about it with him just yet, which led him to fear, she would erupt in tears as soon as he asked her about it. The thought alone of her crying always made him uncomfortable. He had no idea what to say or do, if things ever got that far, secretly fearing that he would make matters worse if he tried to console her, inept as he was at it. So the subject was never addressed. It just hung between them like a shadow.

She looked so forlorn standing there in front of him, it made his heart ache for her. Whenever he looked at her, there was always this strange mixture of fragility and strength. Now all he saw was a woman near her breaking point. Given that his impulse control was barely existent, he found himself reaching out, even though not knowing what to do. This was all new and unfamiliar.

He ambled over to her to offer her an awkward hug, which she, to his great surprise, accepted.

"Afterwards, after Dan's…death," the way she paused for a while there, told him she still had trouble accepting what had happened, "I cried for weeks. I didn't hold anything back. I wanted to not feel resentful because he died so young and we had so little time together. I wanted to be able to think of him and not be overcome with grieve. Keep him with me, always, like a happy memory…like my guardian angel to watch over me." She let out a sad little laugh and he forgot to insert one of his trademark ironic comments about the false comfort of religion. The cold lump inside his throat stopped him from speaking. He cared.

"Somehow I pulled through, managed to care again, feel again, but I wasn't over it. Caring is much less painful than loving. Caring was easy, but not loving."

"But you said…" He looked at her with a frown.

"Yes," she said with a warm smile. "And it is still true."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. I just know that, when I'm around you, when we don't fight," he smiled a little at that interjection, "I feel like…" she was struggling to find the right words, "I feel like everything's going to be alright. I feel comforted, safe…and also thoroughly not damaged."

"Miraculously healed by love." Now he couldn't keep his vicious tongue in check anymore. "If only some of our drugs were as potent as those almighty hormones!"

Cameron frowned. "Despite what science might say, I refuse to believe that love is just some biologically dictated, hormone induced folly. After the honeymoon is over, there's still something that keeps people together."

"Routine? Laziness?" He volunteered.

"No, it's much more trouble, trying to work through every day's niceties like teething babies that cry all night, mortgage rates and dogs that puke on your carpet than calling it quits."

"I think Wilson wouldn't agree with you."

"Really? I think that he would. Loving someone means choosing that person over all others over and over again each day – each second. If you can't do that…if you don't love someone enough and you give up eventually."

"And you'd choose me over and over and again?" House asked incredulously.

"Yes," she said without hesitation, looking him in the eyes with a serious expression on her face. "And that doesn't oblige you to say it back at me," she added quickly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Her words left him puzzled and what confused him even more was the fact that he couldn't sense any pretence behind them. _If she really meant_…No, he'd rather go with his instincts this time. They rarely failed him. Besides what was right in front of his nose also let him to believe that she said the truth. Everything, her body language, the tone of her voice, pointed to this. She really meant what she said.

"What I really want to do right now is get out of this lab, have something decent to eat…I'm thinking Chinese take-out…"

"I see, decent food," Cameron commented with a knowing smile.

"Yes, decent food. You know what else would be nice?" He stretched his arms above his head, stifling a drawn out yawn.

"No."

"Stretching out on the couch, enjoying the fabulous gift of TiVo." He looked at her as if he waited for her to say something, but she kept silent. "Would you like to do that…with me?"

"Sounds tempting."

"It's supposed to…Come on, I'll even treat you some of the soup that you like so much. The one that tastes like dishwater…" He made a motion at the door.

She followed his invitation. "How do you even know what dishwater tastes like?" She asked him with a smirk on her face when she passed him.

so tbc ;) 


	11. Becoming

It turned out her words were following him wherever he went and whatever he did. When he was standing under the shower the next day, wriggling his toes in the lukewarm water that was steadily spinning down the drain, what she had said was still echoing his head. His musings were briefly interrupted by breakfast and TV, then he was off to work. He swung one leg over his motorbike, clipped his cane to its side, zipped up his leather jacket and finally put on his helmet. The motor of his bike roared loudly when he briefly played with the accelerator just to annoy his neighbours.

His ride to the hospital was the sort of choreographed routine that didn't need his full attention anymore. It let him with enough time on his hands to keep mulling over Cameron's words. It was funny how different they perceived things. She thought him to be an intensely private man who had been hurt so badly, he had decided to isolate himself from the rest of the world. To her he wasn't an entirely a lost case, because deep down she supposed him to be a good person. But that was not how he saw himself. Truth be told, he had not ever dared to see himself like that. Was he really anything like that or was it just another one of Cameron's desperate attempts to figure him out?

He had gone a long time without giving a damn about what people thought about him. Caring was a strange business. Suddenly someone else's opinion was important and no matter how hard he pretended not to care, he couldn't keep himself from wondering if she was right about it. It was just a terrifying thought having to consider that another person might know you better than you knew yourself.

When he finally arrived at the Princeton Plainsboro, he couldn't help but feel oddly relieved. All this introspection was giving him a headache. His helmet under his arm, he marched towards the entrance of the hospital, taping his cane purposefully. He breezed into an empty conference room, wasting a perfectly good entrance. It was rather anticlimactic, but really, he could have already guessed that no one would be there. It was already well past nine so Foreman, Chase and Cameron were already buzzing around busily like the good little worker bees they were.

Being alone was something that hardly bothered him. Most of the times he actually revelled in solitude, but not today, not when he kept hearing Cameron's words echoing in his head in an endless loop. He threw the door to his office open and carelessly discarded his backpack on the floor next to his desk. As was usual during this time a day, the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting through the air, quickly drawing him closer like a moth to the flame.

His favourite coffee mug was missing. He frowned and immediately started a thorough search for it, but it was nowhere to be found. His frown deepened. If someone had broken it, there would be hell to pay. He had gotten quite attached to that red coffee mug. Maybe he had left it in his office.

Once again one of his suspicions was verified. What he didn't expect, though, was for the mug to be already conveniently filled, standing there waiting for him on his desk. The corners of his mouth curved upwards. Other women scribbled love notes or composed silly mixed tapes, but apparently this was Cameron's way of showing her affection. He had to admit he quite liked it. He sat down behind his desk and took a sip of the hot beverage that also turned out to be prepared with just the right amount of milk and sugar.

When he spotted a single lollipop stick pocking out between his letters, he let out an amused chuckle. And that was obviously her affectionate way of telling him to go read his mail. Very Mary Poppins…A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Allison Cameron," she briefly looked up at her patient over the rim of her chart, on which she was scribbling avidly.

"Alex Fletcher."

"Nice to meet you, Alex," Cameron dutifully noted his name on the chart. "So, what brought you here?" She took in the person sitting across from her with a brief scrutinizing gaze: early twenties, lanky, tousled brown hair, ripped jeans and a crumbled t-shirt with the Princeton University logo on it. The dark circles under his eyes and his pale complexion were the only two things about him that struck her as potentially medically relevant.

"Yeah…well…I need you to prescribe me a mild sedative," he rubbed his hands together nervously. "I've been having some trouble sleeping the last couple of days."

Her mouth curved into a little smile. She was starting to have a suspicion about what was wrong with her patient. "Any other symptoms? Headaches, dizziness, loss of appetite…" She checked his pulse, pressed her stethoscope to his back to hear his breathing. A basic examination had to be done after all. It was her duty and she took it very seriously.

"Yes! Yes, I think so," he answered quickly, almost excitedly. "Now that you mention it…Is it serious?" The young man looked at her expectantly.

"Depends. How much have you been studying lately?"

"A lot. My finals are coming up…Wait a minute! How did you know?"

"Oh, please! Three years of medical school…I recognize test anxiety when I see it."

"Well then, are you going to prescribe me those sleeping pills or not?" The tone of his voice was starting to sound a little strained. He was getting impatient.

"I'll give you a prescription," she nodded, already filling it out as she was speaking. When she was done, she ripped it from her pad with an exaggerated motion of her hand and gave it to him.

He read it. A puzzled look was slowly spreading on his face. "Wait!" He exclaimed. She was already halfway out the door, her white lab coat pillowing behind her.

"Yes, is there something else you wanted to know?" She answered patiently, though she was already expected next doors.

"Are you trying to make fun of me? What kind of prescription is that? Beer, time with your friends and less studying?! Are you serious?!"

"Yes, it's what's called in highly acclaimed circles the 'get a life'-prescription." When she looked at his puzzled face, she felt the twinge of a bad conscience. "Things get easier if you allow yourself to live a little," Cameron added softly.

He chose to ignore her kind advice. "This is outrageous!" The young men hopped down from the bench on which he had been sitting during the examination.

She sighed. "Next door there's a man waiting with pain in his abdomen. He's rather sweaty and very pale. I'm guessing appendicitis, but I'm sure he can wait, if you have any other questions. Do you?" She looked at him with raised eyebrows. Her tone was perfectly friendly and calm. It was actually a bit eerie.

"No, um…I'm sorry."

"I thought so." Cameron gave him a curt nod then disappeared from the room.

"You seem less…," Wilson briefly searched his vocabulary for a world to describe House's present mood, "… grumpy, I think. What's up? Gotten laid recently? New girlfriend?"

"Funny you should ask…No, I called your ex-wife. Boy, who would have guessed? She's a screamer, that little minx."

Wilson chuckled dryly, picking at his risotto with his fork. "Last time I checked, she still hated your guts."

"I know. Makes the sex so much more interesting," House said between a huge mouthful of steak.

"Judging by your level of defensiveness, I'd say new girlfriend," Wilson grinned.

"Can't I keep anything from you?!" House rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.

"So who is she? Cameron? Did things finally work out with her?"

He could tell Wilson was starting to get excited over this, the way he was gushing like a little school girl, so he answered noncommittally, "None of your business."

"If you didn't want me to find out, you could have ignored my question in the first place," Wilson pointed out, waving a forkful of zucchini at House pointedly.

"Alright, you got me there. But it's not Cameron. It's Cuddy."

Wilson looked at House unblinkingly for a second, before he finally managed to choke out a question, "It's not really Cuddy, is it?"

House chuckled, slapped his thigh and then fell silent abruptly. Pause. Wilson's face grew longer. "No, not Cuddy. But the expression on your face…priceless."

Wilson narrowed his eyes, but left House's last remark uncommented. "Well, that leaves only Cameron. Good for you! She seems to be rubbing off on you. If I remember correctly, you actually paid for your lunch this time, which is actually a huge improvement, considering you didn't even try to smuggle your steak by covering it in a heap of salad. Speaking of salad…what's this extra cup of green stuff for? Is Steve McQueen on a diet?" he indicated the plastic container sitting next to House's tray with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"That?" House looked at the salad cup with raised eyebrows, "Oh, that's for later. A little afternoon snack."

"Right! As if you were going to eat that! Maybe if someone took a candy bar, broke it into little pieces and sprinkled them over it."

"Yuck! Trade your recipes with someone else, will you?"

"You've bought it for her, haven't you? You know, that's actually kind of sweet," Wilson droned out in a sugary voice.

"'Healthy body healthy mind'…Come on Jimmy. Ring a bell? Just for your information, not that it is any of your business, since I'm cleaning my whole perspective on life and food and…"

Wilson's loud laughter cut him off in the middle of the sentence. House just glared at him wordlessly from across the table.

"I'm sorry, wasn't that some sort of joke?" Wilson scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, still grinning from ear to ear. "You're not seriously expecting me to buy that, are you?!"

"Oh, shut up and eat your girly food," House growled ill-humouredly.

Cameron crossed the conference room with purposeful strides. She reached her destination, the little office kitchen, in no time and kneeled down in front of the refrigerator to get the bottle of water, she had put there this morning. When her searching fingers connected with a plastic container, she decided to actually look and not just feel around blindly in there as was her custom. Sharing the office with three men, she didn't expect to find much, maybe a half-eaten sandwich or the occasional wrinkled up little apple sitting shyly in the corner of the refrigerator.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise when she looked down at a plastic cup that was filled with salad and grilled chicken strips and had her name scribbled on a post-it note stuck onto it. How did it end up there? She certainly hadn't bought it. Her musing were cut short by the sudden grumble of her stomach, that had decided to speak up just now, because she had been too busy for lunch once again. A sudden and rather overwhelming surge of hunger made her regard the plastic container with a longing look. She shrugged her shoulders, quickly retrieved a fork from one of the cupboards and sat down at the table. Once or twice during her meal, she was fingering the yellow post-it note, looking at it quizzically. She knew the hand on it from somewhere. It definitely seemed familiar.

When she was finished, she cleared away the trash and returned to her place at the table. She reached for the clipboard, she had deposited on the chair next to her earlier on and placed it on the table in front of her. Her eyes fell on House's signature at the bottom of the page and then quickly darted over to the post-it note and back again after she had made the connection. It couldn't be! He would never…And yet again it was his handwriting. There was absolutely no mistake about that.

She hadn't bothered to check whether or not he was in his office, when she had stormed inside the conference room. Now that little detail suddenly seemed immensely important. The blinds weren't drawn, which was usually a good sign. It indicated he was in a sociable mood. It was either that or he wasn't in there in the first place. She couldn't see him from her position at the table, so Cameron rose from her chair, cleverly using her empty coffee mug as an excuse to wander across the room. On her way to the office kitchen she spotted him sitting in his chair.

The way he quickly jumped into action when she laid eyes on him, told her quite unmistakably that he had been spying on her. She smiled at him sweetly through the glass wall. So it had really been him. In the meantime he had chosen to reciprocate her smile with one of his trademark smirks.

She kept herself from entering his office to thank him. It would probably only spoil the moment. Situations he wasn't familiar with, situations like this one, made him prone to blurt out sarcastic remarks, so she limited herself to none-verbal communication. A little nod, a polite smile, a lingering look.

"I think I'm going to call it a night. We did all we could. No use staying around any longer," she remarked pointedly. Despite of her words she lingered in the door frame. "I'm going to head home now." She paused and looked at him expectantly. Apparently he wasn't one for subtle. "Are you coming?" She fiddled with the keys inside the pocket of her coat impatiently.

House looked at her, as if she had startled him out of deep reverie, eyes somewhat unfocused and slightly puzzled. "Huh?"

"I said I'm going home. Do you want to come with?" she tried again, waving goodbye to the last shreds of her dignity.

Apparently her offer tempted him. He tilted his head looking at her thoughtfully for a moment, then answered. "Nah, you run along. I still got stuff to do around her."

"As in?"

"Stuff. Just stuff."

"Yeah, fine," she answered slightly miffed.

"Are you pissed?" he asked rather bluntly, as was his custom.

"No."

"Oh, come on," despite of his annoyed tone of voice, he was smiling at her, which was kind of unnerving. He knew her far too well for her taste.

"Okay, maybe a little."

"It's nothing personal. Just work."

"Sure," she said sarcastically. Never, not in the whole three years she had known him, had he actually worked in this late. Usually this was just his excuse to get drunk in his office, moping away the night with a glass of bourbon in his hand. Fine, if he preferred this to her company, so be it.

"Okay, you've looked right through my petty little scheme. Over the course of this afternoon I've suddenly started hating you. That's why I'd rather spend the rest of his evening in my office…alone. Because I've grown tired of that sexy little ass of yours, that gorgeous smile and those fantastic breasts," he ogled her cleavage pointedly. The top buttons of her white blouse had been casually left open and revealed an enticing amount of creamy white skin.

"House!"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, seriously…"

"Thank you and screw you," she said with a smirk.

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe sounds tempting."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Well, tough luck! You chose celibacy for tonight. Since you seem so determined to," she air-quoted the next two words, "work overtime, I'm going to take this sexy little ass of mine and drive it home." With that Cameron turned around, not able to refrain from a little extra teasing before she left. On her way to the door she made sure to sway her hips seductively, which didn't go by unnoticed.

He sucked in his breath. "I'm starting to think I'm a bad influence," he called after her. "You seem to have developed quite the cruel streak."

"You think? I wouldn't mind you rubbing off on me a little more," she purred, deliberately using the double meaning of the sentence to drive him made. She managed quite successfully.

His only reply was a frustrated groan, which made Cameron smile triumphantly when she pulled the door closed behind her.

This little innuendo hadn't exactly helped to make what he was about to do any easier. He rarely felt the twinge of a bad conscience, but now it was undeniably there. What made matters worse, was the fact that it mixed with something aching to nervousness. Hardly anything made him nervous nowadays. He was beginning to wonder about himself.  
Ever since he had made the decision to go see her, there had been that queasy feeling in the bit of his stomach. He was going out of his ways, changing, or probably just pretending to change. Who knew which of the latter it was? But it definitely was nerve-wracking. Better just get it over with. He had taken all necessary precautions. Wilson had left and so had Cameron and Cuddy. Foreman's and Chase's opinions were, at least when it came to this, of little consequence to him. He seized the knob of his cane with a firm grip, walked out of his office and down the corridor.

Having reached his destination, he paused in front of the glass wall to look inside the room. There she was, stretched out on the bed, all fragile and weak, depended on his care, without which she wouldn't survive another day. Another face in an endless row of faces.

He pushed open the sliding door purposefully, but lost his initial bravado when he stepped inside the room. The smell of sick person mingled with disinfectant immediately invaded his nostrils and took away some of his courage. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he had wanted too much in too little time.

"Who are you?" The woman on the bed rasped out. It was 1 a.m. He hadn't woken her. She was still awake and probably in pain.

"I'm…" he paused, unsure whether he still wanted to go threw with his original plan.

"Yes?"

He had made up his mind, now it was time to face the music. And he so did. "I'm Doctor Gregory House, your attending physician." House actually felt kind of smug, accomplished even, after he had managed to get this out.

"Didn't those other doctors say that you usually don't visit your patients?"

"The one time I actually bother with bedside manners and people are starting to complain?! Is this some sort of sinister parallel universe?!" He looked at the woman shaking his head incredulously.

"I wasn't complaining," his patient clarified. "I was just wondering."

"Yeah, okay. Do you terribly mind hurrying up with that a bit?"

"Beg you pardon?!"

"See, I've got this really hot chick waiting for me. I'm thinking she might not be opposed to a little late night booty-call. You don't really want to spoil that for me, do you?"

The woman just looked at him with wide eyes, unable to come up with an adequate reply to what had just come out of his mouth.

"So I figured since we've almost covered everything, I've introduced myself, you were suitably impressed by actually seeing me at your bedside, I might as well… Did I forget anything?" He scratched his head pensively.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Good," he was already ambling towards the door quite eagerly. When he was already out of the room he popped his head back in again. "Sorry, forgot to ask. What was your name again? Brianna, Birgit or something…"

"Actually it's Julia."

"Oh, alright. We'll see how long it sticks." With that he left the room. A few steps down the corridor he stopped. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. He threw a brief look over his shoulder, then sighed. Doubtlessly Cameron would have been disappointed in him, if she had been there to witness this debacle. So much for being a good man deep down underneath all those layers of misanthropy. He could do this if he made an effort. Maybe it was still possible to break with old routines - at least to a certain extent. He wasn't that set in his ways.

House turned around slowly and walked back. Hospitals never ran out of sick people so he still had a lot of tries ahead of him, if this one didn't turn out the way he wanted to. "I'm sorry," he said casually strolling inside the room, as if he owned the place, betraying nothing of how he felt inside, his insecurity and nervousness well hidden away under a gruff exterior. "This was just a rehearsal. Let's try this again…"

Of course, it didn't take long for her to find out. She had been smiling all day as if she was a cat that had just munched on a particularly tasty canary, which conjured all kind of dark premonitions. At least she had the decency to not blurt it out, with Foreman and Chase in the room.

The two other doctors had just left the room to do the test House had ordered. Cameron had stayed behind, postponing her own departure with the lame excuse that a couple of forms needed to be signed to authorize her to run the requested diagnostics.

"She knows your name," Cameron gloated.

"Who?"

"Mrs. Bennett…Julia," she clarified, fully aware of his stalling tactics.

"Maybe Foreman or Chase mentioned it to her."

"Possible, but I'm quite sure they didn't start swooning over your incredible eyes, even though they might be tempted to occasionally. After all, those fabulous eyes of yours are, and here let me quote Julia, 'as blue as the ocean.'"

He coughed somewhat embarrassedly.

"You checked up on her last night, didn't you?"

"So?" He looked at her challengingly. Her smug smile was starting to unnerve him greatly.

"Nothing," that smile broadened even more.

"You tell another living soul, you're dead," he waved his index finger at her threateningly.

"Not even Wilson? He'd be ecstatic…."

"Especially not Wilson."

"Oh, come on, House," there was no use in her calling him House at work, when 'Greg' so clearly swam in the tone of her voice. She might as well make out with him here and there on the conference table (which was an interesting fantasy he would eventually indulge in later).

"Cameron, I mean it," he hissed between clenched teeth.

She pouted a little. "Okay, okay. I'll be down in the lab."

"And stop smiling like that," he ordered gruffly.

"Like what?" flashing that particular smile at him once again on purpose.

"I bet you 100 bucks, there's something going on with House and Cameron," Foreman commented with a knowing smirk, as he observed his boss and his pretty colleague through the glass wall separating House's office from the conference room.

Chase raised his head from the report he was just filling out to give him a funny look. "Really? What makes you say that?"

"Well, for starters have you noticed how close they are standing to each other lately?" Foreman vaguely nodded his head in the direction of House and Cameron. Chase shook his head.

"I try not to pay attention to those things anymore. It's the eternal question of will they won't they again. Gets to your head. Honestly, we've got other things to worry about then whether they shag or not. Don't you think something would have happened by now? Cameron could walk in here naked and he still wouldn't go for her," Chase casually shrugged his shoulders, now pushing the report away and looking at Foreman questioningly.

"You think? Because I wouldn't be so sure about that…"

"I try not to care."

"You'd better start caring, because sooner or latter the shit will hit the fan. It's a fact - law of nature even. There's going to be fallout and I prefer to not be in the middle of it when it happens. It's better to be prepared," Foreman pointed out.

"Well," Chase looked pensive, chewing on the end of his pen, "I guess there might be something to it after all," he said after a while. "He's gotten a lot more…tolerable of late, I guess. Also Cameron seems less…well, less…"

"Needy?" Foreman suggested.

"I was going for something more diplomatic, but yes," there was no reproach in his tone. Even if it would have been there, the effect would still have been marred by his gleeful chuckle.

As if on cue House picked exactly this moment to emerge from his office with Cameron on tail. He strolled over to the white board casually as he had done a thousand times before, while she took her seat at the desk with the rest of the ducklings just as she usually did. Uncharacteristic silence reigned inside the office, while House scribbled on the board with his trusted black marker. As a matter of fact it was so quiet, the sound of the marker moving over the glossy white surface of the board became quite obtrusive. When House was done writing, he turned around to look at his three fellows questioningly.

"I think…," Cameron started oblivious to the tension in the air.

House shushed her after the first words had left her mouth. He narrowed his eyes as if was listening closely to something, unable to discern the source of that sound.

"What? I thought we were going to….," she started again, already looking slightly miffed, only to be once again cut off by House.

"Can't you hear it, Cameron?"

"Hear what?"

"The sound of the little screws inside their heads turning. It's beautiful, but also slightly squeaky and therefore annoying. It keeps us from getting a decent differential diagnosis done. Now we can have that. What's up, boys? Remember there are no secrets in the circle of trust," he said in his best mock paternal tone.

"Nothing…" Chase said nonchalantly.

"Well, actually we've been wondering…," Foreman began.

"Yes?" House answered pronouncing the's' very prominently, so that it almost turned into a hiss.

"Actually, only Foreman's been wondering," Chase hurried to clarify.

"Kiss-ass," Foreman coughed. "Alright then, I've been wondering about you and Cameron…" he looked at his superior in defiance.

"Well, isn't that cute? Our two little rascals…," House mocked.

Cameron, who had, up until now, listened to the exchange between the men quietly, finally decided to speak up. "Cute? I think that's not quite the word I'd use," her eyes narrowed. It was obvious she wanted to say more, but seemed for some reason indecisive about it.

"I'm just worrying about my job," her co-worker tried to justify his curiosity.

"Do tell, what does your job have to do with whether Cameron and I have something going on or not?" House asked interestedly.

"It's going to affect your work and I don't want to have to deal with the consequences."

"I see," House said monosyllabically. His frown and the dark looks he shot Foreman indicated that that conversation wasn't exactly putting him in the best of moods.

Cameron was apparently sharing his feelings. She got up from her chair, throwing her clipboard with the patient's history on the table angrily. It skidded over the polished table precariously nearing its edge before it finally came to a rest. "This is ridiculous," she said, taking of her reading glasses with a swift motion of her hand. Then without a warning she turned around and walked towards the door with purposeful strides.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady? The differential isn't over yet," House called after her, before she could make her exit. Her uncharacteristic outbreak had startled him more than Foreman's inappropriate curiosity.

"I'm going to go and have a talk with Cuddy before he does," she answered, pointedly looking at Foreman one last time before she marched out of the door.

House let out an exasperated sigh, running his hand threw his hair. "Things were going so well. Now see what you did?!"

tbc 


	12. Tomorrow

The silence stretched on. It was starting to get embarrassing, as the two women stared at each other - one questioningly, the other with an anxious expression on her face. Up until Cameron had lost her courage, everything had gone as one would expect from a talk between superior and employee. She had come knocking on Cuddy's door quite insistently, but not without providing the standard apologetic look for turning up without having made an appointment, which earned her a smile and permission to enter the Dean of Medicine's office.

They had taken a seat in their respective chairs, Cuddy behind her desk, Cameron on one of the chair in front of it. So far so good. Then Cuddy had asked, "So what brings you here, Dr. Cameron?" Just by posing this relatively innocent question, she had unintentionally swept away all of Cameron's righteous anger and determination.

For the time being Cameron just sat there wordlessly, alternately thinking up possible ways of escape and attack strategies.

"Don't get me wrong Dr. Cameron, it's actually nice you dropped by, but unless you start talking soon, I'd rather get back to work," Cuddy said leaning back in her office chair, watching the other woman intently.

Maybe it was the impatient tone of Cuddy's voice or the possibility of being sent away without achieving anything that ripped Cameron out of her reverie. Even later she wouldn't be able to tell. However, whatever it was, it inspired Cameron to blurt out immediately what was on her mind. "I just wanted to tell you that House and I've been seeing each other for a month now."

Cuddy gaped. She was momentarily rendered speechless, something that didn't happen very often. In fact, the last time had been when she had seen what the hospital attorney charged for keeping House out of trouble. "I'm sorry, I think I didn't hear right. Did you just say you and House…" she finally managed to get out.

"Yes," Cameron answered slowly.

"Okay," Cuddy took a deep breath, then slowly got out of her office chair. For some reason she suddenly felt the urge to stand. How could that have skipped under her radar? This was something major; why hadn't anybody told her? She would have at least expected Wilson to be as thoughtful as to inform her if something like this happened in her hospital, but then again …maybe he hadn't known either.

"Okay," she said again, mainly to win some time to formulate some kind of battle plan. This was a delicate situation and Cuddy was well aware that she wasn't exactly what one would call objective. House was…Was it okay to call him a friend? She carefully pondered that thought in her mind and came to the conclusion, that yes, it was okay. Cameron on the other hand, well, they had never really found the time to get to know each other. It wasn't that she found the younger woman to be disagreeable in any way – far from it. Maybe she was acting on a subconscious level. After all, a female dean of medicine was an anomaly in this male dominated field of work. Most of the time she surrounded by men, unless she paid the gynaecology ward a brief visit. In a way, she was the queen bee of this buzzing little bee hive that was the Princeton Plainsboro. The system worked because she was approved of, appreciated and desired by many.

"Maybe it would be best if we weighed our options," Cuddy finally suggested diplomatically, "though I'm afraid we won't have many choose from."

"All right," Cameron responded. There was a hint of irritation in her voice, which Cuddy felt relieved to hear, because it made it easier for her to assess the situation. Cameron seemed to be extremely anxious about this talk, so maybe her intentions towards House were really sincere.

"Good," Cuddy blew out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Apparently, you have been able to handle the matter with some discretion - more than I actually expected House to demonstrate in a situation like this. You'll understand that for the sake of this hospital's reputation we have to keep this relationship secret. Not that I don't trust you to do that, but you'll agree with me that House…well, House isn't exactly the poster boy for diplomacy," she added in the end, disposing off the formal tone with which she had started this conversation. She was feeling way too exhausted for keeping up pretences.

"So what do you suggest we do?"

"I'll be blunt. If you're able to keep this hushed there won't be any problems, but on the long run it would be probably best if you thought about…" Cuddy hesitated. This was not easy.

Fortunately she didn't have to end the sentence. Cameron relieved her of that duty. "It would be best if I thought about getting transferred to another department. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Look at it as a precautionary measure. Just in case, you see," Cuddy nodded, unconsciously running her hands over her skirt to straighten it.

Cameron laughed humourlessly. "House will be absolutely thrilled by this idea. You know how much he hates change."

"He can't expect you to stay his fellow for ever."

"I don't want to rush things, if that's alright with you. I need to talk this over with him first, before I start making any plans," Cameron informed her calmly. "It would be the worst kind of betrayal if I didn't - in his eyes and mine as well. We have to take this decision together," she added more silently on an afterthought.

It sounded like something people did in a regular relationship. Cuddy, however, highly doubted House and Cameron had a regular relationship. Whatever reservations she had in this moment, she managed to hide them quite successfully behind a smile. "You do that, Doctor Cameron, but I'd like to have a word with you again in a couple of days, if you don't mind."

"Of course," Cameron rose from her seat, feeling like an actor just leaving the stage after a particularly challenging scene. When she turned to leave the room, the fake smile she had forced on her face in the moment of goodbye disappeared from her face. In the meantime, Cuddy sank down in her office chair, massaging her temples exhaustedly.

"Oh, and please do me a favour and tell Steward to cancel my 3 o'clock, when you pass his desk," Cuddy called after her.

It seemed like the whole universe had suddenly decided to conspire against him. He was by nature a very curious man, so that the fact that Cuddy had headed home at 5 o'clock and Cameron was avoiding him like the plague was driving him up the wall. House did the only thing he had left to do. He vented his frustration on Foreman, who, in his opinion, deserved every ounce of it. When he was momentarily done with taking out his anger on the younger man, he discovered that Cameron had long left without telling him. How rude of her! He had to know what was going on and preferably now. Without giving his impulsive decision a second thought, he grabbed his helmet and his backpack and ambled out of his office to confront her.

"Where are you going?" Chase, who was busy going through some old medical journals in the conference room, dared to call after him.

"Home," he barked in response.

"But…"

House stopped in track and turned around, suppressed anger glittering in his eyes. "Don't worry. You can leave as well. We've got Foreman to cover our asses. Since he's so worried about his job, he sure won't mind squeezing a few extra hours to please his boss."

"It'll take all night running those tests," Chase tried to reason with his boss. He had followed House out on the corridor, trying to match his stride, which to his own surprise, turned out to be an impossible endeavour. Thanks to his anger House suddenly seemed to have sprouted wings, despite his bad leg.

"He should have thought about that before he decided that blackmail would be a lovely way to start the day," House muttered when he stepped inside the elevator and purposefully pushed a button on the panel, leaving a speechless Chase in his wake.

Today had been one of those days. Cameron had needed a break from the world. The trouble was that she was having a hard time letting go. So, forcing herself to relax at least for half an hour, she took a bath.

The telephone had been ringing a couple of times, but she had not been able to answer it, because she had left it in the living room on purpose. She wiggled her toes in the water. The calmness of the surface was immediately disrupted and tiny waves ebbed against her chin. The phone rang again, the sound was shrill and angry. It was probably House. She lowered herself in the bathtub until the water muted the sound. Her nose was under water as well. She only hoped she would be able to hold her breath long enough for the telephone to stop ringing. Eventually, however, she had to surrender. The telephone triumphed, but not for long. After ringing at least for another 30 seconds it finally fell silent.

Cameron closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on blocking out all unwanted thoughts to the point of thinking nothing. The steady dripping of the tap echoed inside the bathroom. A meditation exercise, she had once tried with moderate success, resurfaced from her mind. Focus on the dripping. With each drop you sink deeper, relax more and more. Drip, drip, deeper and deeper. Deeper and deeper.

The bathroom door flew open without a warning and she let out a high-pitched shriek, flinching violently, so that the bathwater spilled over the edge of the tub and flooded the tiled floor. House was standing in the door frame breathing heavily, his jacket still on and his motorbike helmet under his arm.

"Oh my God! House! What the hell do you think you're doing?! Do you want to give me a heart attack?!" she screeched at him, equally breathless.

House took of his jacket, eyed the wet floor with trepidation and finally put the jacket, together with his helmet, on the toilet seat. Walking cautiously, as if treading on a field of landmines, he made his way to the tub. He took one of her towels, at which she wrinkled her nose in disapproval and dried of the edge of the bath tub, so he could sit down on it.

"What did you tell Cuddy?" He asked without further introduction.

"Is that what this is all about?"

"You wouldn't answer your phone. I've tried playing nice," he scowled.

"I get it. I was practically begging for you to break into my apartment and barge into my bathroom like you just did."

Cameron closed her eyes again, trying to block him out, which turned out to be a rather fruitless endeavour. She could feel his eyes burn into her naked body and even the steady sound of the dripping of the tap wasn't enough to calm her nerves. A shadow fell over her and the dripping stopped.

"Get that damn tap fixed!" He muttered under his breath, after he had forcefully twisted the tap shut.

"House, please!" Her irritation was reaching new heights.

"Just tell me what I want to hear, alright?"

She threw him a very convincing death glare, then let out a long drawn sigh. "I told her the truth. I told her that we've been seeing each other for three month now."

"What did she say?" he asked ignoring her irritated tone of voice completely.

"Not much – the expected. She wants us to keep it a secret. Oh, and she suggested I should seriously consider changing departments."

"Uh-oh! Someone's in trouble. Good luck with getting out of this one!" he remarked nonchalantly.

She frowned, fixing him with perplexed look on her face. "I'm in trouble!? May I remind you that you're in this as well? This is something you and I should decide together."

"I didn't decide to go and run to Mommy to tell her all about Foreman's nasty little trick."

"Fine. So what brilliant idea would you have come up with?"

He had the audacity to shrug his shoulders. "Does it matter? What I'm more interested in now is, how you will decide. Cuddy seems to know you pretty well. She offered you one of those either-or, black-or-white kind of deals."

"What's that got to mean?"

"Either you believe enough in us to stick around or you'll choose to get transferred to another department because you secretly believe that we've got no future and will sooner or later end up making a mess out of things."

"I….I don't know what to say. That thought never even occurred to me. I'd never want to hurt you like that. I just thought of those two options as a rational attempt at solving the problem. I didn't look at it like…like that," Cameron answered, feeling slightly uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze, especially since she was lying naked in a bath tub.

"Well, I do," he said with a stony face. "So which one will it be?"

"Can't we talk about this like two normal people for once?" She pleaded with him.

"You know as well as I do that we're not two normal people."

"Apparently," Cameron raised her chin stubbornly. "You don't seem to have understood why I went to see Cuddy in the first place," she look at him for some kind of answer, which never came. "I went to see her, because I didn't want Foreman to ruin things for us. I know him. His top priority is his job. Things like friendship and trust only take a second place after that. He's my friend, but when he would have explained things to Cuddy, he wouldn't have bothered being diplomatic or doing what's in our best interest. He would have done what was best for his career."

"You haven't answered my question yet," House pointed out, stoically ignoring what she had just said.

"You're an idiot if you don't already know the answer," she glared at him, feeling a fresh wave of irritation wash over her.

"Well, maybe I am," he tried to get up from the edge of bath tub, but slipped on the wet tiles. So much for a dramatic exit! Fortunately he didn't have that much momentum, so all that happened was that he rather slid, than fell backwards into the tub, involuntarily joining Cameron in her bath.

"Are you all right?" was the first thing she asked, when she had recovered from her initial shock.

"Yeah, just peachy," he answered, rubbing the back of his head, which he had slightly bumped on the tiled wall during his fall. His long, dry, jeans-clad legs were sticking out of the tub, while his torso was completely submerged in water. For a couple of seconds they stared at each other speechlessly, then Cameron broke out in hysterical laughter.

She could see him fighting hard to keep a straight face, but the situation was just too absurd to not break out in laughter, so he joined her a only few seconds later. At that point it didn't matter anymore what had transpired between them before. The harsh words that had been spoken were forgotten, even though the problem was still there, because they couldn't simply laugh it away.

When her laughter died away, Cameron could still feel the lump in her throat, a silent reminder that they still had a couple of things to figure out. She scooted forward so that she was at eye-level with him and shyly wrapped her arms around her knees, although it was now far too late to think about such things as modesty. By now there was no way he couldn't have seen everything there was to see.

"Greg, you're an old, insecure, stupid ass, but you're my old, insecure stupid ass and I wouldn't want to change that for the world," she told him in all sincerity, while she laid her hand that had by now become wrinkly from the water on the back of his. He smiled at her weakly, encouraging her to continue talking. "What about…," she hastily broke off the sentence, afraid to scare him away by saying too much.

"What about me?" he volunteered.

"Yes," she smiled. "Do you want to keep me?" The playfulness in her voice was just a show. He knew that deep down she was dead insecure about asking this particular question.

He sighed. It was still difficult talking about his feelings with her, but with time passing the desensitising treatment seemed to start working. "You're an idiot if you don't already know the answer," he echoed.

At that she smiled at him, but her smile seemed to be laced with sadness for some reason. Maybe he was just projecting that particular emotion on her, because he had once again let an opportunity pass by to tell her that he loved her as he had done so many times before. He did really love her. He knew as much now. He just hadn't found the heart to tell her yet.

Realization had snuck up on him in a moment that probably had to be the silliest one of all. It wasn't that kind of story you told at wedding receptions, because it wasn't all that romantic. It had been that night he had first spent at her apartment, when she had dozed off on his shoulder while they had been watching a movie. The scene had been obscenely domestic. When she had awoken later, only to declare that it was time for bed, he had mistaken her words for a not so subtle hint to leave. The thing was that he hadn't wanted to leave, despite his shoulder, which had still been aching where she had laid her head to rest. He could remember how her body had felt snuggled up against his, how her warmth had radiated through his clothes right into him. He hadn't felt that comfortable in years. In fact, he had never felt that comfortable. Leaving had seemed like such a very cruel alternative, when he could still feel the ghost of her warmth. That night he had found out he never wanted to leave…never wanted her to leave, but he had never said as much.

Her voice ripped him out of his reverie. "The water is getting cold," she wrinkled her nose in disapproval.

He looked at her as if he did for the first time. His eyes roamed over her slender, elegant shoulders, her arms still wrapped around her knees, her fingertips that only just dipped into the surface of the water. "You're naked," he remarked, which probably wasn't the most intelligent comment to make at that time.

She raised her eyebrows at him. Apparently she thought so too. "You're only just noticing now? You've been here for at least half an hour. I don't know if I'm supposed to be offended or…"

"Or? Anger can be quite distracting, you know."

"And also exhausting," she massaged her temples. Was he giving her a headache? He hoped he wasn't. "I'm going to get out of the tub," she informed him.

"Then I'll probably become even more acutely aware of your nakedness. Good idea," he grinned.

She ignored his comment. "Are you going to get out as well?"

"Nope. How about you get me this morning's paper, a cigar and a tumbler of Whiskey, honey?" House said. Despite his attempt at sarcasm, the words were softly spoken.

"You're trapped underneath me, aren't you?"

"Which coincidentally isn't that bad a position," he grinned. "It doesn't nearly happen as often as I would like."

Cameron smiled sweetly, but got up nonetheless. He couldn't keep himself from staring at her as the water was tripping down her nude body. "Nice," he whistled appreciatively through his teeth, which made her blush even though they had seen each other naked countless times by now. She turned, thereby affording him the opportunity to stare at her shapely ass before she wrapped herself in a big white towel.

"Help me out, will you," he impatiently motioned her to come closer.

She held out her hands to him. It was only a gesture, they both were well aware of that. Despite his bad leg he wasn't an invalid and well able to get out of the tub by himself. It was just one more excuse to touch her and be close to her. He knew that, but maybe she thought he was just being plain lazy.

Almost effortlessly he got to his feet, barely holding onto her hand. Soon he was standing, the water dripping down from his soaked clothes all over the bathroom floor. "I love you," he said slowly, cautiously as if trying those words out for the first time. In a sense he was. He was reacquainting himself with making himself vulnerable again.

She looked at him for a second unblinkingly. While he stared in her face, waiting for her reaction to his words, he could see the tears gather in her eyes. If she cried right now, he was going to seriously consider drowning himself in that tub behind him. "Please, don't tell me your about to start the waterworks, Allison," he said softly, giving her an awkward half-smile. He could tell her he loved her, but not deal with her crying all at once. That would be too much for one day.

"No, of course not," she sniffled.

"Right," he said tilting his head a little to the left, regarding her curiously for a second. She held his gaze. The contours of his face seemed less ruggedly seen through a haze of tears.

Without a warning he leant in and kissed her. At first she was too astonished to respond - after all, she still had to work through the fact that he had told her he loved her - but when his tongue brushed against her lips, her initial hesitance was swept away and she responded eagerly. When they finally broke the kiss, she felt light-headed and hazy, but not hazy enough not to notice that her towel had incidentally dropped to the floor.

"Ups, so sorry! I think that was my fault," House grinned at her.

"Apparently," she responded with an equally smug grin.

"This time around I'm going to fully appreciate the fact that you're naked," he murmured in her ear before he started kissing her neck.

"What about…?" she started, but forgot what she wanted to say in the middle of the sentence when he playfully bit her shoulder.

He broke away from her, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes that were slightly darkened by dilated pupils. His chest was rising and falling in quick intervals. "What? Flooded bathrooms? Impending doom at work? Or my motorbike that's currently parked more or less in the entrance hall of this building?"

"Yes, basically all of the both," she answered slightly breathless.

"Do you really care right now?" he asked.

"No, not really…" her hands started unbuttoning his clammy shirt as if on their own accord. "Tomorrow there will be still time to figure things out."

"My thoughts exactly," he smiled suggestively, while his eyes skimmed over her naked form. He couldn't help but think what a lucky guy he was. Despite of the many unpleasant things the next day would doubtlessly hold in store, he was sort of looking forwards to facing them, because he no longer had to do that on his own.

**The End**


End file.
